


nocturne

by neroh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Anal Sex, Attempted Murder, Frottage, Gore, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Past Character Death, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kolinahr Killer has been FBI agent Leonard McCoy's radar for nearly three years; reigning terror throughout the San Francisco Bay Area and leaving behind a trail of victims in their wake.  He receives a call that one of the Kolinahr's intended victims escaped and is now the only person who can identify the killer.  It should be open and close...if only Jim Kirk weren't so entrancing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iseult1124](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iseult1124/gifts).



> Shut up, Heather. <3

It’s nearly three in the morning when Leonard gets the call from Christopher Pike.

“They found a live one,” his superior says tiredly on the phone as if he’s just been woken up. It occurs to Leonard in his sleepy state that this is the case.

“A live one?” Leonard croaks as he reaches for the lamp beside his bed, knocking his wristwatch and wallet onto the floor. “What do you mean a live one?”

Pike yawns into the receiver over the sound of his car keys jingling. “Some kid was found by security at the Presidio,” he explains. It sounds like he’s running towards his car. “All cut up and screaming about the Kolinahr Killer before he passed out. Nyota says he’s still in surgery.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Leonard barks, suddenly awake and wired.

The Kolinahr Killer has been on his radar for the last three years; cutting up men at random and leaving behind messages in his victims’ blood. Messages meant to taunt or invoke sympathy when he begs for the FBI to find him, such as the one found at the murder scene of Alexander Marcus. Leonard remembers his stomach churning as he read the note painted onto the wall: _for heaven’s sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself._

The engine to Pike’s FBI issued Expedition roars to life. “I’ll be at your place in ten minutes,” he tells Leonard before hanging up.

Leonard fumbles around his bedroom for clothing; finding a sweatshirt from the University of Mississippi and a pair of jeans because it’s three in the fucking morning and he doesn’t need to be wearing a suit to the hospital.

He’s presentable in seven minutes flat and waiting for Pike in the lobby of his apartment building, pacing the carpet.

He’s the son of the infamous Atlanta Ripper, something that should make him be downtrodden and wary of society. Instead, Leonard keeps his identity close to his person, remembering that he _is not_ his father. He is the FBI agent who stopped David McCoy with a single gunshot wound to the chest and ended the terror that rippled through the city.

He doesn’t tell anyone that he can still feel the humidity clinging to his skin and see the expression on his father’s blood-stained face whenever he tries to sleep. His father turns into something else; no longer a man, but a killer, a demon, a stranger. A vicious caricature of the man who raised him and hid his other life from those who knew him best.

Perhaps it’s why Leonard left medical school and joined the FBI when he was twenty-five. He may have resembled his father, but they weren’t cut from the same cloth.

Pike honks the horn and Leonard ventures out into the night, feeling the chill and drizzle on against his neck as he gets into the car.

“Nyota called with an update,” Pike says as Leonard straps himself in. “Victim has been identified as James T. Kirk. He’s the son of George Kirk.”

“Wasn’t he the Chief of Police back in the eighties?” Leonard asks.

Pike nods as he pulls back out onto the road. “Until Nero Lupei gunned him and his other son down.”

“What do we know about this kid?”

“He’s thirty-four, lives in North Beach, works as a photographer for various publications,” Pike explains as they rush to the hospital. “Trust fund kid; his mom came from old San Franciscan money but a do-gooder. No priors.”

Leonard nods. “Family?”

“His older brother, Samuel, was killed at age eight and his mother passed away from cancer when Kirk was nineteen. He had a stepfather, Frank Williams, who died two years ago,” Pike says. “Other than that, it’s just him.”

Leonard raises his brows. “Good ol’ Nyota,” he sighs. “What’s the kid’s prognosis?”

“We know he’s still in surgery, but no word on his injuries or condition,” his superior replies with a heavy sigh.

“What about the press?” Leonard asks. He hates the press, especially after this case blew up. Janice Rand of the _Chronicle_ is a thorn in his side and a weasel. She always manages to get information leaked to her through means that Leonard suspects aren’t exactly legal. Perhaps Nyota can coerce Rand into silence because their victim is alive…well,  _still_ alive.

Pike shakes his head. “Hikaru is working on a statement, but so far they haven’t caught wind of it. We won’t release his name and he’s been registered under an alias. Once Kirk is out of surgery, a guard will be posted outside his hospital room.”

The rest of the drive to the UCSF Medical Center is going over logistics and their amazement that someone has escaped the Kolinahr. Leonard coined the name after reading about a Judeo-Christian ritual that fit the perp’s MO to a tee. Kolinahr is a ritual by which all remaining vestigial emotions are purged and the mental discipline from this state is maintained.

It has been clear since the beginning of the case that the Kolinahr shows no emotion during the actual act of dispatching his victims, but there is a logic behind it. That logic has baffled the FBI for nearly a decade.

As Leonard follows Pike up to the surgical floor, he wonders what information this James T. Kirk will be able to divulge or if he’ll even be sane enough to talk. Lord knows what he had to do in order to escape and from the evidence of what the Kolinahr does to his victims; Kirk may not even survive the night.

Nyota Uhura is standing in the waiting room, watching the doors that bar them from the surgical corridor as she paces. She must hear their approach and turns her head to look at Pike and Leonard. Like her co-workers, she is dressed casually and her long hair is twirled into a bun. “No news,” she tells them. “He’s still alive and in surgery.”

“That’s something,” Pike sighs. “Where are the others?”

Nyota goes to sit down, rolling her neck as she does so. “Pavel and Spock are still at the Presidio to keep the scene from the press. Scotty is going over the evidence on Kirk’s clothing,” she says with a yawn. “This is not how I pictured my Saturday morning starting out.”

“Did you see him before he was taken into surgery?” Leonard asks.

Nyota shakes her head in acknowledgment. “His back looks like someone went at it with a shredder,” she comments, wrinkling her features in distaste.

“So we’re looking at blood loss, possible exposure…” Leonard mutters. “Did you catch who was operating on him?”

Nyota shrugs her shoulders. “Honestly, I was more preoccupied with making sure this didn’t leak to the press.”

He knows that it’s her job and Nyota has done more than enough this evening. Leonard smiles gratefully as he sits down next to his colleague. “We’re going to be in for a long night,” he yawns while crossing his arms over his chest.

 

* * *

 

When Dr. Geoffrey M’Benga comes out in fresh scrubs, Leonard is not at all surprised.

He gives the three FBI agents a nod as he approaches and motions for them to follow after him. “We’re taking him upstairs to ICU,” he explains as they file into an elevator.

“What’s the prognosis?” Pike asks.

Geoff shrugs. “Kid’s lucky to be alive,” he says. “Blood loss, exposure, dehydration, rib fractures, and a concussion. He was nearly hypothermic when the ambulance brought him in.”

“When can we speak to Mr. Kirk?” Leonard questions as the elevator moves. He might have shot his own daddy, but elevators grate on his nerves. He instinctively grabs one of the bars and makes a pathetic grunt as the elevator goes up.

Geoff glances at him and chuckles. “Still afraid of elevators, huh, Len?”

“Not afraid,” he grunts over the sound of Nyota’s stifled laughter. “It’s a disagreement we have.”

Pike pats his shoulder. “About McCoy’s question,” he presses.

“Not anytime soon,” Geoff replies as the elevator doors open and he steps outside. They follow him down the corridors, passing by occupied hospital rooms and the ICU’s staff. “I’ve listed Mr. Kirk in serious condition. We managed to stabilize him during surgery, but he has not regained consciousness.”

Leonard and Pike exchange a glance while Nyota furrows a brow. “What does that mean for our victim?” she asks.

“His body has experienced significant trauma and it’s reverting back to its natural defense—rest,” Geoff tells them as he grabs a chart that Leonard presumes is Kirk’s. “This way. From my understanding, one of your agents has been posted outside his door.”

Gary Hendordd sits outside Kirk’s hospital room and clutching a cup of coffee. He looks up at the sound of footsteps, his expression hard until he sees his superiors and colleagues. Hendorff stands up and nods his head. “Boss,” he says.

“Thanks for doing this, Gary,” Pike tells him to which Hendorff shrugs and sits back down.

Geoff opens the door and reveals a dimly lit private room. The blinds are drawn, blocking out the sun rising over San Francisco, and the light over the hospital bed is the only real illumination in the room. It shines upon a pale and battered figure with matted golden hair.

Leonard silently marvels at seeing James T. Kirk in the flesh. His entire face is a mess of cuts and bruises varying in size and color. Pristine gauze covers his arm keeping more injuries from getting infected while the rest of Kirk is tubes, monitors, and wires coming out of him like a creature in a science fiction film. 

“Nearly five hundred stitches in his body, which will begin to dissolve in a fortnight,” Geoff mentions while he checks over Kirk’s vitals. “Plus a blood transfusion and antibiotics to ward off infection. Kid’s been through the wringer.”

Leonard steps closer to Kirk’s bedside, watching the younger man as he shudders and clutches the blankets with one of his hands. He leans over Kirk to survey the damage, noting the superficial cuts sustained to his throat and hands.

As if he put up one hell of a fight to escape.

“Maybe we should get Scotty up here to get samples of the tissue under his fingernails,” Nyota suggests quietly. “It looks like he fought back.”

Leonard nods in agreement. “Give him a call,” he says as Kirk grunts and grimaces. His legs begin to kick under the blankets, clearly in distress. Leonard presses his palm against Kirk’s forehead and brushes back the hair that’s fallen over his brow.

“Hey kid, it’s okay,” he whispers soothingly. “You’re in the hospital where he can’t hurt you. You’re safe here.” Kirk’s movements cease and he settles against the mattress while Leonard’s gentle ministrations continue. He tilts his head towards the FBI agent’s low murmur, sighing heavily.

Nyota has her dark eyes on Leonard and a smile on her face as she pulls out her cell phone. “You aren’t as grumpy as you let on,” she intones.

“Well don’t tell anyone,” he replies with a grin. “I have an image to maintain.”

Nyota rolls her eyes as she takes the call outside of Kirk’s hospital room, much to Leonard’s amusement. He and Nyota have known each other for years. She is aware of his grumpy demeanor as well as his softer side that appeals to children and victim’s families.

He pulls up a chair alongside Kirk’s hospital bed and makes himself comfortable as Geoff and Pike continue conversing. There’s not much he can do until the kid wakes up, other than keeping vigil and wait patiently for his questions to be answered.

If Kirk can answer them at all.

Geoff leaves the room and it’s just him and Pike, who stands across from him. “Now the waiting game begins,” Leonard says.

“So it does,” Pike replies as he looks Kirk over. “He’s a lot younger looking than I expected. Practically a baby.”

Leonard silently agrees with a shrug of his shoulders. “We used to be that age,” he comments.

“True, but we still had a bit naivety that he will never have again,” Pike sighs. He looks at Leonard. “Are you going to stay here?”

Leonard nods. “Might as well. Nyota is going to have Scotty come and scrape his nails for the perp’s tissue,” he says. “His hands have defensive wounds on them.”

“Maybe we’ll get luckier than we already have.” Pike pats the side of the bed with a tight smile on his weathered face. “I’m going home to get some sleep. I’ll see if Spock or Nyota can take the next watch if that’s all right with you.”

It works for Leonard and gives him time to read through the file that Hikaru is more likely than not compiling on Kirk. Pike leaves him alone to stare at unconscious features that cover the fierceness of James T. Kirk underneath layers of skin, tissue, and muscle.

 

* * *

 

Scotty runs the remnants of skin tissue that was embedded in Kirk’s nails through the system while Nyota and Spock watch over their charge.

Leonard goes home and gets some shut eye in the comfort of his own bed rather than the plastic hospital chair. Ten hours later, he returns to the hospital to find that Kirk is still unconscious and that the results of the tissue were inconclusive. Scotty is waiting for him outside of the kid’s hospital room with a solemn look on his face, almost like the responsibility of finding the perp is solely his.

“There were partial matches,” the Scotsman explains as they go into the hospital room. “It will take a bit to weed through them.”

Leonard understands and tells Scotty so. “We were lucky enough to anything at all,” he tells him while sneaking a glance at Kirk. A faint bloom of color has returned to his cheeks that are slightly swollen from medication and trauma.

“Poor laddie,” Scotty murmurs. “I read through the interviews Pavel and Spock conducted with the security guards who found him. Terrified out of his mind and wouldn’t let anyone touch him, screamed and clawed at the guards when they tried to get close.”

Leonard swallows down the sympathetic lump building in his throat as he stares at Kirk, whose face shows only calm. He can imagine the terror he experienced, having encountered it first hand when he confronted his father. At least Leonard had a gun to defend himself. “He’s a fighter,” he comments.

“More like a Viking,” Scotty counters with a shrug. “I’m going to head back to the lab and see what I can come up with.”

He engrosses himself in his iPad, reading the file that Sulu sent him via email as he sits by Kirk’s bedside.

The kid seems to be more active when Leonard is nearby and he’s uncertain if he should take it as a compliment. Kirk grunts and mutters nonsensically in his sleep, only relaxing when he hears Leonard’s voice or at the first press of the agent’s hand against his forehead.

When he’s quiet, Leonard uses the time to peruse through his file. He is greeted by a color photograph of Kirk, who is grinning haphazardly at the camera. The tug of his lips is boyish, almost shy, like his skin is too tight and the attention too much.

 _Like he prefers to be behind the camera_ , Leonard thinks to himself.

His eyes are a glorious blue that reminds Leonard of a robin’s egg or maybe his mother’s sapphire brooch that he keeps hidden in his dresser drawer. Looks aside, his background is quite impressive: educated at Berkeley, followed by his Master’s at the Rhode Island School of Design, and internships in Milan, Tokyo, London, and New York City.

By all accounts, Jim Kirk, as he’s referred to, is a natural talent and is reminiscent of Ansel Adams and Dorothea Lange. His photography has been published in a variety of magazines and books ranging from _National Geographic_ to _Rolling Stone_.

He’s also worth a pretty penny according to various magazine articles. No one is sure about his net worth as Kirk is wont to keep mum about it, but Forbes estimated his trust to be in the seventy to eighty million range.

Jim Kirk appears to have it all: looks, intelligence, talent, money…but no family or partner to share it with.

“He likes you,” Nyota quips when she enters the room, carrying a brown paper bag. The aroma of food wafts through the air and makes Leonard’s stomach growl.

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Doubt it,” he replies as he sets the iPad down on the bedside table in exchange for the bag.

“Kirk doesn’t even fidget when Spock and I are here,” she says, taking a seat next to him. “It’s like babysitting a corpse.” Nyota soothes the comment with a charming grin. “Pike is going to make a statement tonight and he’s posting a surveillance team at Kirk’s condo in North Beach in case if our guy decides to get sloppy.”

Leonard bites into the sandwich and groans with relief. “I doubt our guy will get sloppy,” he tells her in between bites. “At least not again. He’s going to move onto the next victim and consider Kirk a worthy opponent.”

“You’d really think he’ll leave Kirk alone?”

“Possibly. Or he’ll wait to see if Kirk can ID him.”

Nyota leans back in the chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you think Kirk will be able to?” she asks in a dubious tone.

“We’ll know more when he wakes up,” Leonard replies because that’s all he can say. He knows from his father’s tales of patients back in Georgia that trauma victims work on their own schedule. There is no telling when Kirk’s eyes will open or if his sanity will be intact.

As Leonard eats his first meal since the morning, he has a feeling that a serial killer isn’t enough to extinguish Jim Kirk’s flame.

 

* * *

 

Jim Kirk regains consciousness four days after being admitted to the hospital.

It’s early evening and Leonard is going over the evidence that was recovered from the Presidio when he hears the kid groan. The sound is unlike the sleepy grunts and dreamy whispers, but present and lucid. Leonard glances up from his iPad to see the grimace crossing over Kirk’s face and quietly sets the device down in the chair next to him. He stands over Kirk just as his eyes flutter open, his lashes beating like wings against the tops of his cheekbones. His right eye has sustained more damage than the left: there is deep gash above his brow and a matching one right below his orbital bone, causing it to appear bloody while the left is virtually untouched.

“Hey,” Leonard greets with a smile that he hopes is friendly. “Good to see you awake.”

Disoriented, Kirk blinks his eyes open and shuts them with a grunt. He shifts against the mattress, flexing his fingers in discomfort. “Where am I?” he croaks as Leonard reaches for the call button. 

“You’re at UCSF Medical Center, Mr. Kirk,” Leonard replies.

“J-Jim,” he stutters. “Mr. Kirk was my dad.”

Leonard nods. “Okay then, Jim,” he says as he presses for assistance. “My name is Leonard McCoy.” He watches as Jim tries to keep the pain from his injuries from overwhelming him.  It doesn’t surprise him, given the state Jim was brought into the hospital. “I’m with the FBI.” Leonard’s hand shoots out and touches Jim’s shoulder as he attempts to sit up.  “Why don’t you take it easy until the doctor comes?” he suggests as he pushes the other man back against the bed.

“I remember you,” Jim says drowsily. He has a delirious grin on his lips as he closes his eyes. “I remember hearing your voice.”

Leonard tilts his head as Geoff enters the hospital room with one of his nurses. They notice the wrinkles of pain that cause their patient’s brow to furrow and inject his IV with medication. “You remember my voice?” he implores.

Jim nods. “Heard you tell me that I was safe,” he mumbles, the words slurring and growing quieter with each passing moment. “You talked to me when I got scared.”

He finds it hard to believe that Jim remembers that at all, but then again the kid just escaped a serial killer. Anything is possible. “You’re right,” Leonard agrees. “That was me.”

“Thank you,” Jim tells the agent before sleep takes hold of him.

Leonard watches over him as Geoff and the nurse take note of his vitals and adjust his medication, secretly vowing to protect Jim Kirk at all costs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mentions of child abuse, torture, and gore.

Jim Kirk fairs better the following morning and is awake when Leonard arrives at his room.

Sleep rumpled, he picks at a tray of hospital food with a plastic fork while the television drones on in the background. Jim still looks a bit swollen and the bruising around his right eye is joined by a red abrasion on his chin. “Do you think this is real food?” he asks without looking up from the plate. He wrinkles his nose in distaste before glancing at Leonard. “I mean…look at it.”

Leonard tilts his head as he drapes his jacket over his arm. “It looks like it could be edible,” he offers. “If you were desperate.”

“I’m not sure if I’m there yet,” Jim says as he sets his fork down and leans against the pillows stacked behind him.

Leonard smirks as he takes a seat next to the bed. “You might not remember me,” he begins, only to be cut off by Jim’s voice.

“You’re Leonard,” he states. “The FBI agent.”

Leonard is surprised that Jim remembered and nods. “Yeah. Leonard McCoy.”

“Do you have a nickname I can call you?” Jim asks, cocking his head so that his golden hair catches in the natural light. That boyish grin is tugging at his mouth, though it seems more like a nervous tick given the circumstances.

He sighs as he reaches into his pocket to pull out his notepad and a pen. “Most people call me Leonard,” he admits.

“Not Len, Leo, or Lennie?” Jim twitches his nose when Leonard shakes his head. “Really?” he comments dubiously.

Leonard shrugs in apology. “It’s just Leonard, kid.”

“You have an accent,” Jim says, changing the subject. “Southern drawl; I’m guessing one of the Carolinas or Georgia.”

He knows from psychology classes and past experience that Jim is deflecting the attention from himself onto something—or in this case, _Leonard_ —else. Clearly, Jim does not want to rehash his ordeal, especially since it’s still so raw, and Leonard isn’t sure if he should take it as a compliment. There are ways to get back on track, but he also realizes that Jim formed some sort of connection with him. He trusts Leonard to protect him. He needs to hold onto that.

“I’m from outside of Atlanta,” he tells him. “You’re pretty good at that. Is that from traveling for your job?” When Jim nods, Leonard smiles at him. “You probably meet a lot of people.”

“More than I keep track of,” Jim admits. “I just got back from Hong Kong. For a work assignment.”

“When was that?” Leonard asks as he starts to jot down notes. Jim hesitates with his answer, causing Leonard to glance up. “I just need to get some background information.”

Jim nods, looking uncertain as he licks his lips. “Two weeks ago,” he answers. “I think my flight information is still in my email.”

“Did you meet anyone suspicious while you were there?”

“It’s Hong Kong,” Jim deadpans with a weary grin. “But nothing that made my hackles go up.”

Leonard flashes one back at him before going back to his notepad. “I’ve been never to Hong Kong,” he admits as he writes.

“It’s quite the place,” Jim says, his tone a bit lighter. “Nothing like Tokyo. That’s like walking into a video game!”

He chuckles. “I was very into Nintendo when I was a kid,” Leonard admits. “I would play Zelda and Mario Brothers for hours. Drove my mama crazy.”

Leonard hears Jim’s laughter and looks up to see a real smile forming on his lips. It’s so unlike the photograph from his file. He watches the corner of the younger man’s eyes crinkle and a dimple form near his mouth, making Jim appear impossibly young. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the effect this kid has on him and says, “What about you? Were you into video games as a kid?”

“My mom didn’t like them,” Jim tells him. “The violence bothered her.”

“Because of what happened to your father and brother?”

Everyone within a fifty-mile radius and born before 1984 knew what happened to George and Samuel Kirk. It was the stuff perfectly outfitted for a television movie—the good-looking Chief of Police and his young son gunned down by a criminal as they left the San Francisco Zoo. Cue the beautiful, grieving widow and her youngest child watching their coffins being lowered into the ground, followed by the trial and subsequent jailhouse murder of Nero Lupei.

“Something like that,” Jim whispers. Leonard realizes that he was probably too young to remember what happened. The murders happened at the beginning of the New Year and Jim was still three since his birthday was only a few days later.

Talking to him about his father is probably like hearing a ghost story or an urban legend—the people are real enough, but somewhere along the way the story gets convoluted.

“My mom was the great-grandniece of Adolph Sutro—he and the Aliotos practically built this town. She used to say that our family was cursed.”

Leonard sets his pen down and leans forward. “Do you believe that?”

“I’m not sure what I believe,” he replies while picking at the blanket in his lap. “I don’t really remember Sam or my dad, but I knew things used to be better than they were. I saw photographs of us and my mom _actually_ looked happy. As a photographer, you learn that your subject can fake a smile— _hell_ , people may even believe you—but you can’t fake emotion. I think she died along with them.”

Leonard frowns. “She still had you.”

“Right,” Jim snorts. “She didn’t handle what happened to my dad and Sam at all. While she was too busy popping pills and drinking, Frank, my step-dad, took care of me. The only reason why he married her was to make sure I wasn’t neglected. ” A small grin of remembrance appears. “Frank gave me my first camera. It was a point and shoot.”

“Why didn’t you call him dad?”

Jim haphazardly points to a cluster of scars on his chin. They are like pinpricks, small enough to be mistaken as acne scars, but Leonard suspects they are not. “My mom’s emerald and diamond ring did that,” he explains so calmly that it makes the fine hairs on Leonard’s arm stand up. “Frank found her beating me in a drunken rage and pulled her off me. That was her first trip to rehab and the last time I called him dad.”

“How old were you?”

Jim’s brow furrows as he tries to recall. “Six,” he says, uncertain. “I think.”

“What happened after that?”

“Mom went to the house in Middleburg—it’s outside of DC—while Frank and I stayed here. She would come visit and seemed to be doing better, but I was afraid of her,” Jim tells Leonard. “She was scarier than Nero Lupei…to me, anyway.”

Leonard slouches in the chair, awestruck about how Jim Kirk could relay the story of his childhood without being affected. “My dad murdered my mom,” he blurts out, earning a curious blue-eyed stare from the room’s other occupant. “He was the Atlanta Ripper and my first major case.”

“Wasn’t he shot and killed while being cap…” Jim’s voice trails off as realization dawns on him, which Leonard nods. “Oh. Wow…”

“It seems the both of us come from turbulent family histories,” Leonard tries to quip. “All we have are the sins our parents left us and our bones.”

Jim chuckles. “Bones,” he says.

“What about them?”

“That’s your new nickname,” Jim declares, clearly looking pleased with himself. Leonard wants to argue with him, but he seems so damn relaxed that he decides it’s not a battle worth fighting. “What other questions do you have for me, Bones?”

Leonard has to laugh at Jim’s morbid enthusiasm. He shakes his head and composes himself before picking up his pen. “About the night you were abducted,” he starts to say, watching Jim’s expression darken. He nods his head in understanding. “I know this is difficult and if you’d rather do this later…”

“No,” Jim states with a firm shake of his head. “I want to get this over with.”

“Okay,” Leonard sighs. “What do you remember?”

Jim purses his lips together before speaking. “I had just gotten home from the symphony. They were having a gala for the major donors and I had gone there out of obligation,” he starts to explain as he watches Leonard write. “I was fixing myself a glass of scotch when I was attacked from behind.”

“What do you mean?”

“He grabbed me from behind and put this cloth over my nose and mouth,” Jim retorts, shrilly. He rubs his palms over his lap and swallows. “I was trying to fight him off, but…I felt _dizzy_ … tired, even.”

Leonard sighs. “Chloroform,” he mumbles as he makes a note of it. The other victims had trace amounts in their stream during the autopsy, something he would need to speak to Christine Chapel about. “Then what happened?”

“I woke up and it was dark,” Jim rasps, his cheeks paling. “I could hear traffic and water around me…and I was tied down. He had me laying on my stomach and my shirt was gone. I think he used a sleeve to gag me.” He lifts a trembling hand to his hair, brushing it off his forehead. “And he started talking to me.”

Leonard arches a brow. “Talking to you? Was he taunting you?”

“No,” Jim replies weakly. “He said he wanted to ask me some questions about myself. About photography.”

 _This is new_ , Leonard thinks to himself as the door opens. Nyota pokes her head in and sees that Jim is awake. She slips into the hospital room as quietly as possible, making her presence almost specter-like. It’s from her training as a dancer before Nyota injured her knee. “What sort of questions about photography?”

“How I got started, did I develop my own film, the lens I use, my idols, my favorite techniques,” Jim lists off as he grips the blanket in a tight fist. He swallows. “I felt like I was being interrogated and I told him so. He said that he always asked his acquaintances—that’s what he called them…the people he murders—these types of questions because he wanted to expand his mind. And learn from us.”

It sounds like the Kolinahr’s modus operandi. “Did you catch a glimpse of his face or any characteristics? Tattoos? Scars?” Leonard inquires.

“He had pale skin…almost like snow and dark hair maybe,” Jim says. “I think he was my height, maybe a bit taller. I remember when he grabbed me, he seemed like he was bigger than I was.”

Leonard writes it down. “What else did he talk to about? Your personal life?”

“No…just about photography,” Jim mumbles. He palms his face, wiping away tears that pool at his lash line and sniffles. “Then he let me rest. He sedated me…I don’t know how long I was out.”

Nyota glances at Leonard. “They found traces of Estazolam in his urine,” she mentions in a whisper.

“Like Alexander Marcus and Kevin Riley,” Leonard sighs. “What happened after you woke up the second time?”

Jim shifts uncomfortably as his lips start to tremble. He swallows a few times, trying to find the words while tears course down his face. “He started to…cut my back,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “He told me that he was going to use my blood to leave a message for his next acquaintance and that he liked to keep us linked somehow. He said it in this deep voice—like he was a demon—and so calm. Just kept going on and on while I was screaming and begging him to stop.” Jim chokes back a sob, his hands grasping for the blankets and squeezes the fabric. “And he said that he _couldn’t_ stop. That, someone, had to stop him before he hurt someone else.”

“Perhaps I should find Dr. M’Benga,” Nyota whispers, to which Leonard nods. She leaves the room in search of Geoff and he silently hopes that they come back with a sedative.

Leonard drags the chair closer to Jim’s bedside and reaches for his hand, minding the IV. “Jim, you are going to stop him because you escaped,” he assures. “You lived and now you’re going to stop him from hurting someone else.”

“He left me untied,” Jim whimpers over and over. “He thought I passed out again and maybe I did. I’m not sure. He was waiting for me to wake up. I grabbed something—maybe a jar—and smashed it over his head before I took off running. He tried to grab me again, but I kept scratching him and kicking until he let me go.” He looks at Leonard, his eyes appearing even bluer than before. “And then I kept running. I kept running…”

Geoff and Nyota return to the room and the sound of their movements are drowned out by Jim’s helpless whimpering. He’s on the verge of hyperventilating as Geoff loads a syringe into the port of his IV, draining the contents in a single movement. Jim fights the sedative for a few moments until his voice tapers off and his lids start to droop. He becomes pliant, allowing Leonard to ease him back into bed while he assures Jim that he’s safe until the other man drifts off.

To Leonard’s surprise, Geoff does not verbal chastise him for upsetting his patient. He only glares and sighs heavily before he leaves the room, dumping the syringe in the hazmat container by the door.

“Was he able to tell you anything useful?” Nyota asks.

Leonard turns to her and nods solemnly. “It was definitely the Kolinahr who had him,” he says as he sits down, exhausted. “He mentioned the blood link.”

“And there was no way he could have known unless he was on the case,” Nyota surmises with a frown. She palms her chin and curses under her breath. “Jesus Christ, Leonard! That poor man. Do you think he’ll go after Jim again?”

Leonard shrugs and glances at Jim’s unconscious face. “I want a protection detail on him, just in case. And he said he was taken from his home, so maybe…”

“I’ll get Hikaru and Pavel to secure the area,” Nyota tells him as she pulls out her cell phone. “Should Spock come down here to sit with him?”

He doesn’t want to leave Jim alone, but Spock is a good guy and may find a way to entertain Jim once Leonard gets back. “I’ll call him,” he grouses as he takes out his cell from his pocket and dials his colleague’s number by memory. After securing Spock’s presence, Leonard writes a note on a torn scrap of paper from his notepad and tucks it into the pocket of Jim’s hospital issued robe.

 _I’ll be back soon_ , it says in blue ballpoint ink. _And I’ll bring you real food_.

 

* * *

 

Jim Kirk’s North Beach condo is the stuff that people dream about.

It looks like it belongs in _Architectural Digest_ or that home decor website Christine loves to look at when she thinks no one is watching. The condo is situated in a building under Coit Tower’s shadow and close to Grant Street. Leonard feels strange walking into Jim’s abode without invitation; as if he’s invading the man’s privacy. In a way he is, but Leonard reasons it’s for the investigation’s sake as he walks over polished San Francisco Redwood floors. The walls are painted in a light gray, reminiscent of the fog that blankets the city during most days, and the trim and vaulted ceilings in white. The job was professionally done, as is the hanging of the artwork. There are photographs (some of them pre-War and of family members more likely than not), paintings, and a few mounted antlers that Leonard surmises are heirlooms.

“Nice place,” Nyota says as she follows Leonard. “He has decent taste for a guy.”

Leonard snorts. “Or a good interior decorator,” he chimes in as they continue towards the kitchen where Sulu and Chekov are.

“Hey Len,” Pavel chirps as he walks out of a room. He is wearing a pair of gloves and holding an evidence bag. “Nyota.”

She grins at the kid. “What do you have for us?”

“We are in the process of fingerprinting the place,” Pavel explains whiling leading them to the living room where more of the action is. Hikaru is squatting next to a broken tumbler of scotch on the hardwood floor. “I suspect we’ll find a lot of Mr. Kirk’s prints, perhaps some of his friends. I’ll need their names to rule them out.”

Leonard points to Hikaru. “He mentioned he was abducted in this room,” he states as he walks over to his friend.

“Did he mention he has good taste in scotch?” Hikaru quips as he carefully dusts the tumbler for fingerprints. There is a ghost of a smile on his face as he bags it.

Nyota takes the bag from him and inspects it. “Should we walk you through what he told Leonard?”

“Then we let you know what we think?” Chekov pipes in, handing Nyota and Leonard gloves.

Nyota rolls her eyes. “Something like that,” she retorts.

“Mr. Kirk said that he had come home from a gala at the symphony,” Leonard explains as he starts to pace the room.

Hikaru nods in agreement. “There was a bow tie and tuxedo jacket on the breakfront when you walk in,” he says.

“So he must have come straight in here,” Leonard goes on, walking towards the liquor cabinet. “Poured himself a glass. How full do you think the tumbler was?”

The other agent shrugs. “A finger…give or take. He never got to drink it.”

“Okay,” Nyota sighs. She steps behind Leonard and studies him. “He was pouring the glass when he was attacked. Did the Kolinahr use chloroform again?”

Leonard nods and says, “Like clockwork.”

Nyota squats down and looks at the evidence tag. “So during the struggle, Kirk drops the glass and tries to kick him,” she surmises as she points to a scuff mark on the floor. Nyota stands up and looks around, confused. “There are no other scuff marks. Maybe he carried him out?”

“We’re looking at a man who is young enough to carry out a thirty-four-year-old who is about…one-eighty, six feet tall without calling attention to himself,” Leonard says. He looks down the hallway, towards the other end of the apartment and purses his lips. “And was able to get in without Kirk’s neighbors suspecting anything.”

Pavel has his arms crossed over his chest and is bouncing on his heels. “Clean cut, normal looking?”

“And caucasian,” Leonard adds. “Mr. Kirk mentioned that the Kolinahr had very pale skin like snow.”

Hikaru snorts. “Was his hair as black as night?” he chuckles.

“What time did the gala end?” Leonard asks Nyota, ignoring his comment. “Midnight, you think?”

Nyota shakes her head in agreement. “Between midnight and one. He would have had a car service; cabs hate coming to North Beach and I doubt Kirk would have waited for MUNI.” She turns, her ponytail swishing with her movements. “What’s through there?” Nyota asks, pointing towards a darkened doorway.

“The kitchen,” Pavel replies.

Nyota walks towards it. “Any signs of forced entry?”

“Nope and we looked everywhere else around the condo,” Pavel tells her as he follows. “It’s just like the Olson and Barnett scenarios.”

Leonard groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Weren’t the spare keys missing?”

“We’ll need to ask Kirk if he even has one,” Nyota suggests. “What are the age ranges of the tenants in this building?”

“He’s the youngest by thirty years or more,” Hikaru pipes in. “Hendorff spoke with the apartment manager and a few of the residents. None of them heard a thing.”

It’s Nyota turn to groan. “God, this would be easier if he was dead,” she says before they go through the scenario once more.

 

* * *

 

Jim’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton when he wakes up and his back is sore, the pain radiating into his other limbs.

He hisses as the material of his hospital gown brushes against his battered body, incurring the attention of someone who is sitting across from him. “Do you require a doctor?” asks a man who is not Leonard. He has an FBI badge draped over the breast pocket of his shirt. When Jim doesn’t reply, he raises a thick brow in concern. “Are you alright, Mr. Kirk?”

He finally nods and groans as he attempts to find a comfortable position in bed. “I’m fine,” he insists hoarsely. “Just sore.”

“After the ordeal you have experienced, it would be surprising if you did not have any pain,” the man replies. He extends his hand. “I am Special Agent S’chn T’gai or Spock, as my colleagues refer to me. You may call me as such.”

Jim shakes his hand, the movement stiff and achy. “Jim,” he rasps. He looks around for Leonard and is disappointed that the agent is not in the room.

It must show because Spock’s lips twitch into a grin. “Agent McCoy is currently at your residence, but I expect him back shortly,” the agent tells him. His brows furrow again. “Are you sure you do not require a doctor, Mr. Kirk? It appears you are in significant pain.”

Jim gulps, shaking his head. “No,” he says not too convincingly. “I just need to find a better position to lay in.”

“If I could be of some assistance,” Spock inquires gently. He goes to Jim’s bedside when the younger man nods and eases him to an upright position. Shortly after, Spock arranges the pillows while Jim huffs in discomfort. “I will be done momentarily.”

Jim grunts. “It’s fine,” he says as he surveys his hospital room. Not much has changed, save for the setting sun and the lack of a food tray. He turns towards the other side of the room and catches a dark purple orchid in a vase and a card still in the envelope. “I got flowers.”

“Perhaps a nurse thought they would cheer up the room,” Spock offers as he helps Jim recline back on the bed. He pulls the table they rest on within Jim’s reach and observes the orchid. “Phalaenopsis or Moth Orchid.”

Jim grins at the observation. “Are you something of a gardener?” he asks as he reaches for the envelope and tears it open.

“My mother was,” Spock replies as he touches the orchid with delicate fingers.

Jim finds an embossed white card composed of thick stock. “Have you been the Japanese Rose Garden in the park?” he asks as he pulls out the card. “It’s gorgeou… _holy shit_!” He drops the card onto his lap and gags on the salvia that pools in his mouth. “Oh my god!”

Spock is at his side immediately and picks up the card, balking at the contents as a nurse comes into the room. “Who delivered these?” he demands to the stunned nurse.

“They were here when you arrived,” she stammers.

Jim is gasping for air as his body trembles violently, rattling the stitches embedded in his skin. He hears Spock on the phone with someone and saying they need to get here right away. Jim closes his eyes, trying to think of something else other than a strip of his own back pressed into white paper and neatly written words in blood that reads: _What’s yours is mine._


	3. Chapter 3

Leonard steps onto the ICU floor and finds it to be teeming with FBI investigators, most of whom are swarming around Jim’s room like buzzards or interviewing the hospital staff.

A chilling sensation fills his stomach—like the red-hot grip of dread—when he sees Pike standing in the doorway with a steely expression on his face as he speaks with Spock. Leonard hurries over to his superior with Nyota on his heels. “What happened?” he asks breathlessly. “Where’s Jim?”

“He’s fine,” Pike says calmly as he holds up his right hand. “Geoff is with him right now.”

Leonard looks between Pike and Spock, his heart hammering against his chest. “What the hell happened?” he asks again.

“The Kolinahr sent him a gift,” Pike explains as he holds up a plastic evidence bag. It’s a card, the kind used at any florist shop, and the words are written in neat, red ink that Leonard already knows is blood.

Nyota inhales sharply. “Jesus,” she gasps.

“He included a piece of skin from what we presume is Mr. Kirk,” Spock adds. His hands are clasped behind his back. Usually, his colleague is fairly stoic but tonight he has a mildly disturbed expression etched into his features. “Scotty has taken it to Christine to be analyzed.”

Leonard shoves his hands against his hips and nods. He peers around the floor, searching for an answer when his eyes fall upon a security camera over the nurse’s station. “Have we had the chance to review the security footage?”

“We have not,” Spock replies.

“Nyota, Spock—I want you on it,” Pike interjects. “Was Kirk able to give us a description?”

Nyota and Leonard glance at each other. “It’s vague, but it could help us narrow down anyone with access to the floor.”

“It’s better than what we had before,” Pike comments. “Call me as soon as you find something.” Both Nyota and Spock say ‘yes sir’ as they hurry off. Pike turns to Leonard and motions him to follow his superior into Jim’s room. “He needs to be in protective custody.”

Leonard sees that the curtain is surrounding Jim’s hospital bed as Geoff examines him. He can hear their voices; the doctor’s louder than his patient. “I agree, but will Geoff release him?”

“He’s not safe here,” Pike intones, clearly enraged by the turn of events. “And he’s _terrified_. They had to sedate him by the time I got here. Spock said he could barely string two words together.”

Leonard frowns, humming in sympathy for Jim. “He could stay with me,” he suggests with a shrug. “I completed two years of medical school before joining the FBI.”

“Medical training aside, he _trusts_ you.” Pike palms his face and grunts into his hand, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is like a fucking horror film! I’ll speak to Geoff about discharging him. Of everyone on the team, who are the two people you trust the most?”

Leonard blinks. “Nyota and Scotty,” he says without hesitation.

“The three of you will be the only ones aware of his location until this maniac is behind bars or dead. I don’t want any of this information endangering the others,” Pike insists. “I’ll get Sulu over here to take her place and Nyota will drive you and Kirk back to your apartment.”

“What about a surveillance team?”

The curtain moves as Geoff pulls it back. Pike leans in and says, “I’ll talk to Scotty about it. In the meantime, watch Kirk like a hawk.” He turns to Geoff and forces a smile on his face. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s been given a low dose of Lorazepam to help keep him calm,” Geoff explains in a hushed tone. Over the doctor’s broad shoulders, Leonard can see Jim reclined at the pillows and staring out the window into the foggy San Francisco night. His entire body is sagging and his generous mouth twisted into a frown along with his eyebrows. He looks drained, for lack of a better word.

Pike is leading Geoff out of the room, speaking low enough that Leonard nor Jim can hear him. The door clicks shut and they are alone, the tension thick and suffocating. “Hey,” Leonard says, taking a step forward. The sound of his voice causes Jim to turn towards him and a tattered grin appears on his lips.

“Bones,” Jim whispers before the grin disappears and he turns away.

Leonard walks to the bed and sits down on the edge, using his feet to balance his uneven weight. “How’a holding up?”

“I like sedatives,” Jim declares. “I’d probably be frothing at the mouth without one.”

Leonard smirks. “Or put in a padded cell.” He watches the corner of Jim’s eyes crease while he chuckles quietly. The sound dies and the young man’s eyes brighten with tears. “Hey, he’s just trying to rattle you, kid.”

“He wrote _what’s yours is mine_ ,” Jim responds with a shudder. “My life is his, Bones, and he’s going to find me. He’s going to finish the job!”

Leonard shakes his head. “He won’t get within ten feet of you.”

“He was on this floor,” Jim counters, choking on his words. He looks like he might break down for a moment. Jim breathes in deeply and exhales before wipes his face with the sleeve of his hospital robe. “He was able to walk right into this hospital without anyone batting an eye. If Spock hadn’t been here… _fuck_.”

The increased beeps from the one of the monitor alerts Leonard to Jim’s rising blood pressure. He touches his knee and squeezes it through layers of blankets. “Don’t think about the what ifs, okay?” Leonard pleads with Jim. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“I’m already in an emotional freefall,” Jim retorts without much gusto. “What else could happen?”

Leonard shrugs. “I know for a fact that Dr. M’Benga is _very liberal_ with his use of sedatives,” he says, motioning towards the closed door. “He’ll drug you to the gills.” Leonard hears Jim’s teary laughter and smiles. “My superior, Christopher Pike, wants to take you into protective custody once we get the okay to discharge you from the hospital. Given tonight’s events; Geoff won’t have much of a choice.”

“What does that mean?” Jim asks. “Where will I go?”

“You’re going to be placed in my care and stay at my apartment until we catch him,” Leonard tells him, patting his knee. “All you have to do to recuperate.”

This earns a playful smirk from Jim, whose eyes start to twinkle. “Normally I don’t stay the night on the first date, Bones,” he teases.

“I’m sure you can make exceptions, darlin’,” Leonard replies without missing a beat and his drawl in full force, despite the sensation of his skin prickling. He returns the smirk with one of his own. “And I make excellent waffles.”

Jim wrinkles his nose and snorts in amusement. “Well now, if you’re going to cook for me,” he relents.

 

* * *

 

Leonard’s Noe Valley apartment is more orderly than Jim expected and exceptionally clean. 

He notices a well-used bicycle mounted on a rack in the entryway, the painted metal gleaming under the ceiling lights, as Jim trudges inside. He carefully slips off his sneakers while Leonard and Nyota converse at the door. The often automatic task is made harder by the stitches in his back and the pain radiating from his ribcage. Jim feels practically geriatric as one shoe comes off, landing on the hardwood floor with a thud.

“Leonard,” Nyota sighs. “Why don’t you give him a hand?”

Jim looks up to see Leonard passing a duffle bag of his own clothing to Nyota before rushing to his aid. “I can do it myself,” he insists as the agent kneels down.

“You can barely move,” Leonard clucks, briefly glancing up at him. His eyes look more green in the light of his apartment, like the trees in Aokigahara at the base of Mount Fuji, and freckled with spots of amber.

Jim swallows as he rests his hands on Leonard’s shoulders, balancing himself while the agent removes his other shoe. “I made it up the front steps,” he grumbles, hoping that the flush crawling up his cheeks is mistaken for exertion, not arousal.

Not that he’d think anyone would blame him because,  _goddamn,_ Leonard McCoy was a gorgeous sight to behold.

“There were only four of them,” Leonard laughs as he stands up. He teasingly waves a finger near Jim’s nose. “You’re lucky my building has an elevator.”

Nyota scoffs. “And that you even rode it up with us,” she counters as she brushes past them with a smile on her face.

“What is she talking about?” Jim inquires as Leonard helps him remove his hoodie, the only thing that was both warm and easy enough to get on.

Leonard’s nostrils flare large enough to fit a quarter. “She isn’t talking about _anything_ ,” he snaps in Nyota’s direction. Her laughter rings from down the hallway and causes Leonard to mutter incoherently. He hangs up Jim’s hoodie and motions him to follow. “Unless you need help.”

“I’m fine,” he insists with a lopsided grin. He may be slow moving, but at least Jim is walking on his own, which is something that feels better than it should. “It’s an improvement from being stuck in a hospital bed.”

Leonard is lingering at his side as he watches over each step Jim takes. “Just don’t overdo it, kid,” he states as he places a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “You’re still healing.”

“Are you a doctor now?” Jim quips.

“I finished two years of medical school before joining the FBI,” Leonard tells him, clearly delighting in the confused expression on his guest’s face. “Dr. M’Benga and I were at the University of Mississippi together. We even shared an apartment for a while. How else do you think he lets me get away with so much shit?”

Jim shrugs as they come into the guest room where Nyota is unpacking his bag and placing items in the dresser drawers. The movement sends a shooting pain down his spine that rapidly spreads through his torso and makes him cry out.

“Like I said,” Leonard gently chides as he leads Jim to the bed. He pulls back the comforter and other bed linens before easing Jim onto the mattress. “Take it easy,” he whispers into the shell of his ear while he helps Jim lay against the pillows. Nyota mentions something about getting him a glass of something to drink so Jim can take his medication and leaves the room.

Jim exhales deeply as his body grows accustomed to the new mattress. “Nice place you have here,” he says truthfully. It looks like a place that should belong in a Restoration Hardware catalog.

“You’re lucky,” Leonard replies. “The cleaning lady was just here and I went food shopping.”

He wags his eyebrows. “Wow,” Jim mocks. “You are pulling out all the stops, Bones!”

“Shut it,” Leonard grumbles, though if the smile on his face is any indication, he’s far from being irritated; he looks amused, even. As he begins removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie, Nyota comes back into the room with a glass of orange juice.

While she reads through the directions on the prescription bottle, Leonard leaves. “We’ll start with the antibiotics,” Nyota states as she uncaps the bottle and taps the proper dosage out into the palm of her hand. Jim hasn’t spent much time with her and admits to himself that he finds the female agent intimidating. She has a take-no-prisoners attitude that he respects paired with a softness that allows him not to be completely scared shitless of her. “Unless you’re really hurting.”

“I’m feeling better now that I’m in bed,” Jim tells her. Nyota hands him the pills and reaches for the glass of orange juice. “Nyota isn’t a name you hear every day.”

Nyota gives him the glass without batting an eye. “It means stars in Swahili,” she replies, watching Jim as he tosses the pills into his mouth and uses the juice to swallow them down. “My father came here to study languages and he met my mother. The rest is history, so they say.”

“So they say,” Jim murmurs.

“I guess with you being here, there goes my crash pad for when I work late,” Nyota sighs. Jim begins to apologize when Nyota holds up her hand and flashes him a smile. “You’re fine,” she insists. Nyota takes the glass out of his hand and sets it down on the bedside table. “I’m sure Leonard won’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

Leonard comes back into the room, having changed out of his work attire into a pair of threadbare jeans and a t-shirt those words are worn with use and age. “Leonard _does mind_ sleeping on the couch,” he grouses while rolling his eyes at his colleague.

“It’s just as well because I plan on heading home in a few minutes,” Nyota says with a smile. She stands up and walks towards the door, brushing passed Leonard. “Unless you need anything.”

“I think we’ll be able to manage,” Leonard tells her as he presses his hand against the small of her back. He turns to Jim. “I’m just going to walk her to the door.”

He feels a bit like a child as Leonard waits for his nod of approval before they disappear down the hallway, their voices drifting back towards the guest room. Jim can only pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, which is probably about him. He lets out a grateful sigh as he sinks against the pillows and closes his eyes. The entire room smells of Leonard; old leather-bound books, moss, and cedar.

Jim doesn’t realize that he falls asleep until a few hours later when he hears the scrape of a glass being placed by his bedside. He jerks awake, regretting it immediately as soon as a sharp pain shoots down his back.

“Easy, easy,” Leonard assures, placing a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Disoriented and only half awake, Jim blinks as the agent’s guest room comes into view. He releases a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. “Sorry,” he rasps, licking his lips. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep.”

“It’s fine,” Leonard says as he passes the glass of water to Jim, who takes it and drinks it down with a grateful sigh. “I ordered a pizza while you were napping if you’re hungry. Or I can make you something.”

Pizza sounds good, but then again, anything that isn’t hospital food sounds like heaven. “What kind of pizza?” Jim asks as he rubs the last of sleep from his left eye. He catches the grin on Leonard’s face and feels his heart speed up.

“A veggie combo,” Leonard tells him. “Hold tight and I’ll get you a slice.”

Jim nods. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asks before Leonard leaves.

“Across the hall,” the agent says. “I put your toiletries in there. Do you need any help?”

Jim ponders this for a moment as he gets himself out of bed and tests his ailing body. It seems sturdy enough to make it to the bathroom on his own. “I think I’ll be fine,” Jim replies. “Thanks, Bones.”

After catching the smirk on Leonard’s face, they go their separate ways; Leonard to the kitchen and Jim to the bathroom. After relieving himself and flushing the toilet, he goes to the sink where he catches his reflection for the first time since this mess began. Jim barely recognizes himself; the battered and bruised skin, the still swollen right eye, the cuts that mark portions of his face and neck, and the haunted look in his eyes. He's never felt insecure about his looks (except for that awful awkward phase from the ages of fifteen to seventeen), but seeing the damage inflicted by Kolinahr brings a wave of anxiety that settles in the pit of his stomach.

The battle scars are visible for all the world to see and soon he’ll be treated like a victim. Like his mother.

“Honey, dinner’s ready,” Leonard’s voice rings through the bathroom door, followed by a low rumbling laughter.

The sound brings a momentary smile to Jim’s lips as he washes his hands and dries them on the towel on the hanger. “Coming darling,” he replies before going back to the guest room.


	4. Chapter 4

The first day of Jim’s convalescence is quiet and relatively easy.

That is until it’s interrupted by a phone call from Pike, who happens to be on Leonard’s front stoop and is waiting to be buzzed in. His supervisor comes alone and is carrying a manila file folder when he steps out of the elevator. “How’s the kid doing?” Pike asks as he walks into the apartment.

“He’s surviving,” Leonard answers. He motions to the folder. “What’s in there?”

Pike hands the folder to him. “Spock and Sulu were able to identify three men that fit the description that Kirk gave us - all of whom are not hospital staff,” he explains. “I want to see if he recognizes any of them.”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Leonard tells him as they walk towards the aforementioned room. It’s only nine in the morning and Jim is eating a breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs and the waffles Leonard promised to make him. His appetite isn’t big, given the stress of the situation, but it looks like Jim has eaten a healthy enough serving.

“Jim?” Jim looks up from his plate with a grin that turns into an expression of curiosity when he notices Pike behind Leonard. “This is Christopher Pike, my boss,” Leonard explains.

Pike extends his hand with a friendly smile. “It’s nice to see you up and about, Mr. Kirk,” he says as Jim shakes his hand. “We hadn’t been formally introduced, but I knew your father when he was on the force. He was a good man.”

“Oh,” Jim replies, looking uncomfortable. Leonard surmises that he’s heard this before and more times than necessary. His father is long dead and his older brother with him, yet Jim still lives under a barely remembered man’s shadow. At least Leonard has been fortunate enough to step out of his father’s ghost-like presence by moving to San Francisco.

Pike must realize that he’s made Jim uncomfortable and changes the subject. “I have three photographs to show you, Mr. Kirk,” he tells him. He takes the folder from Leonard and removes the glossy paper, setting them down on the table. “They are of men fitting the description you gave Agent McCoy and I want to see if you recognize any of them.”

“What if I don’t?” Jim asks as he pulls the photographs towards him. He glances up at Pike and Leonard, his expression filled with uncertainty and worry.

“Then that’s okay,” Pike assures with a smile.

Leonard and Jim’s eyes meet before the latter looks away to review the photographs in front of him. The subjects in question are three men with pale skin and hair darkened by the black and white security feed. He watches Jim stare at the photographs as his features wrinkled in concentration and he gnaws on his lower lip. It turns almost cherry red under the manipulation of his teeth and tongue, begging to be soothed by someone with a gentle touch.

Jim pushes one of the photographs away. Clearly, that man is out of the running. He studies the other two, tilting the photos and sighing.

“Take your time,” Pike insists.

Jim nods without looking at either of them and runs his fingers through his impressive bedhead while letting out a frustrated sigh. “Him,” he says in surprise and points to one of the photographs. “I know him.”

Pike and Leonard lean over Jim’s shoulders to see a photograph of a man that stares directly at the security camera with a brazen attitude that makes Leonard shiver. Or perhaps it’s the man’s pale eyes and serpentine features framed with hair that looks nearly black. “Do you have a name for this fellow?” Pike asks.

“John Harrison,” Jim tells them. “He’s a painter out of Dogpatch and something of an occultist. Professionally he goes by the name Khan.”

Leonard blinks. “Khan?”

“Don’t ask,” Jim replies sardonically. “I took his portrait for an issue of _San Francisco Magazine;_ the who’s who of the area. He asked me out for a drink after our session.”

He feels a bit of jealousy curl within his gut - something that Leonard wants to shake away as quickly as it came, but finds he is unable to. As he looks at the photograph, he could see the allure - John Harrison is an attractive man after all, but there is something sinister about him.

“I take it that the date didn’t go well,” Leonard comments as he takes the photograph and hands to Pike.

“It was fine,” Jim explains in a meek voice. His cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and he’s not looking Leonard in the eye. “I went back to his place and we…um…”

Pike nods knowingly. “So you dated?”

“No,” the younger man says, shaking his head. “He got obsessive for lack of a better word. Always calling and texting me. Showing up at the studio I work out of and my condo. He went as far as tracking me down to events and sending love letters.” He drags his palms over the material of his sweatpants. “I told him to leave me alone and I blocked his number. I told the building management to call the police if he ever showed up. Then I went to Hong Kong.”

Leonard looks at Pike and confirms this with a nod. “He came back two weeks ago,” he adds.

“I did see him a few nights before… _before_ ,” Jim mentions in a quiet voice. He swallows roughly and seems to try to make himself appear smaller as he sits in the chair. “I came home from my friend, Gaila’s, place in Oakland and John was in my condo; he was just sitting in the living room. I have no idea how he got inside.”

Pike glances at Leonard, the type of glance that tells him that Pike’s gears are working in overdrive. “And what happened?”

“I told him to leave before I called the cops,” Jim whispers hoarsely. “I was about to dial when he grabbed my cell phone out of my hand and pushed me up against the wall. Then he said, ‘your illusions keep you safe. Enjoy these final moments of peace, James.’ After that, he left and I hadn’t heard from him since.”

Leonard and Pike exchange a look before the latter speaks again. “Do you still have Mr. Harrison’s contact information?” he asks.

“I keep an address book in my home office,” Jim replies as he glances at Leonard, looking guilty as hell. “If it’s not on my cell phone, it’s probably in there. I didn’t have time to erase it.”

Pike nods. “I’ll have someone go over to your condo and look for it,” he tells Jim before he turns to Leonard and motions for him to follow him out.

Leonard gently pats Jim’s shoulder as he leaves the kitchen with his boss. He follows Pike down the hallway and clears his throat. “Perhaps this John Harrison was using that night as a test run for the real thing?” he questions.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Pike says quietly. “I’ll have Nyota and Sulu check into this guy’s connections with the other victims. In the meantime, keep Kirk calm and resting. It’s only going to get more difficult from here on out until we arrest our guy.”

Leonard nods. “I will do my best, sir.” After Pike leaves, he heads back to the kitchen where Jim is cleaning up his plate with stiff movements. “Jim,” he sighs. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Jim replies as he makes his way to the sink. “But I want to.” He leans over the counter after setting the plate down and pauses his movements. “You probably think I’m some sort of idiot for going home with a guy I barely knew.”

Leonard knows that Jim can’t see his head shaking, but he does it anyway. “No,” he assures in a gentle voice. “I never thought that.”

“It’s hard for me to find someone who doesn’t see dollar signs,” Jim tells him sadly. “Or mentions my father every single second.” He turns his body and faces Leonard, eyes bright with emotion. “He seemed like he was interested in _me_ , but then he wanted to…I don’t know…consume me, I guess.”

Leonard tilts his head, curious by what Jim means. He remains quiet, allowing the younger man to lead the conversation. Jim tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, his fingers curling against the fabric, and practically gulps down his nerves.

“Frank and Gaila—she’s my best friend—always wanted to know about me. The kid who went to Berkeley and RISD and read a lot of books,” Jim continues. “I’ve never dated anyone who’s bothered…I thought John was going to be different.”

He thinks for a fleeting moment that Jim falls under the poor little rich boy, but Leonard knows that the archetype does not describe the young man in front of him. He is intelligent, well rounded, talented, handsome, thoughtful, and—most importantly—a survivor. “Why don’t you tell me about this bookworm while I cover up your stitches?” Leonard suggests. It earns a curious look from Jim. “For your shower.”

“I’d like that,” Jim replies with a smile that makes Leonard’s heart skip a beat.

 

* * *

 

Jim feels more like himself now that he’s showered and shaved. He stares at his reflection in the mirror as he pats his skin with a towel. His back is still taped up with the cover that Leonard made so that his stitches wouldn’t get wet. Jim caught a brief glance and flinched at the sight of the black thread woven into his back, a reminder of his ordeal.

A knock comes from the door. “Are you decent?” Leonard asks.

“As decent as I can be,” Jim replies as the door opens and the agent pokes his face into the bathroom. He is wearing a pair of clean sweatpants, though his torso is still naked. “I was hoping I could get a hand with taking off the cover.”

He can see Leonard glancing at his body. The agent is not exactly ogling Jim; it’s more like he’s making a study of the younger man and processing the information along with what he’s been told. “I can help you with that,” Leonard assures as he goes to stand behind Jim. “So once you were at RISD…”

“Oh yeah,” Jim says without missing a beat. He had left off at his first winter in Providence and how _fucking_ cold it was for a guy who was Californian born and bred. “My parents never took me to Tahoe; mom hated the snow and Frank left New York as soon as he was done with college. We visited family in Maryland and in Iowa, but it was usually during the spring or fall. Gaila had to take me… _ouch_!” Jim grimaces as the tape used to secure the saran wrap tugs at his skin.

Leonard winces in sympathy. “Sorry,” he replies.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jim tells him as he grips the sides of the sink. “Anyways, Gaila is from Boston and is used to the cold. She had to take me shopping to find _real_ winter clothes because it never gets below the fifties in San Francisco. I don’t think I even owned an insulated jacket.” The first piece of tape comes off with a sting and Jim bites his lip to keep from crying out. “Or mittens. Or a knitted hat.”

Leonard chuckles. “What about a scarf?” he asks as he goes to the next piece of tape, his fingers dancing across Jim’s skin.

“Please,” Jim grouses with an eye roll. “Of course I had a scarf…I’m from the hipster capital of the world… _fuck_ that hurt!”

Leonard is holding up another piece of tape, which he rolls into a ball and tosses in the trash. “Well, we can’t allow you to get the stitches wet or Geoff will kill the both of us,” he deadpans. “Do you own a pair of thick-framed glasses?”

“I used to,” Jim huffs as the agent works on the next piece of tape. “Until I got Lasik.”

“Or common sense.”

“Ha _fucking_ ha,” Jim hisses. “I bet you wore boots and a dumb hat all of the time; being Southern and all.”

The next piece of tape comes off quickly and without warning, causing Jim to curse a blue streak. Leonard is grinning behind him. “I’m from Georgia, not Texas,” he says. He watches Jim as he shakes off the sting and rolls his eyes. “Quit acting like an infant.”

“That _really_ hurt, Bones!” Jim snaps.

Leonard snorts. “Let me get the last one off and I’ll kiss it better,” he replies with a grin. He applies a gentler touch to Jim’s lower back in an effort to not pull any of the stitches. “Did you like Providence?”

“I guess. It was nice, but I missed being home,” Jim admits as Leonard eases the strip of tape off his skin. “I think I could go anywhere in the world and _still_ come back here, despite everything I’ve seen or photographed. San Francisco feels right.” He shivers as the agent touches the small of his back and looks down so Leonard can’t see him blushing.

Leonard makes a sound of approval. “Well, none of your stitches are wet,” he confirms as he looks at their reflections in the mirror.

“Do I still look like something that belongs in a freak show?” Jim grumbles in question. As he reaches for his t-shirt, he sees the agent’s scowl in the mirror. “Bones, if you keep doing that your face will stay like that.”

Leonard arches a brow. “First of all, _that’s_ impossible,” he starts. “And secondly, you don’t look like something that belongs in a freak show. The stitches are temporary and soon they will be gone.”

“I’ll have scars,” Jim counters quietly.

The agent is moving his hand up to touch one of the strips of black thread, touching it gingerly as his eyes survey the damage. “We all have scars, kid,” Leonard whispers, his drawl becoming thicker. His breath reaches Jim’s skin, causing it to pimple. “Some of us just wear them where others can’t see.”

Jim finds himself turning around, trapped between the sink and Leonard’s body. He licks his lips and waits for the older man to take a step forward;  _desperately wanting_ him to. Jim can feel the heat of Leonard’s body radiating against his own and see every freckle and scar on his face. He pictures long summer days under the Georgia sun and peach cobbler waiting for Leonard when he came home from school in the fall. A little thought of how the older man’s mouth probably tastes as sweet as the fruit enters Jim’s mind. It’s silly and probably nonsense, but it doesn’t lessen his desire to see if it’s true. Leonard may be thinking the same thing as he takes a step closer and reaches out to graze his thumb against Jim’s clavicle.

The silence between them hangs heavily and Jim swears that if the agent doesn’t move closer, he’ll have to risk tearing his stitches to kiss him.

But Leonard does lean in. His full lips are within centimeters of Jim’s when his cell phone rings from his back pocket. The other man groans and curses as he grabs the device, barking, “This _better_ be good, Pavel or so help me…”

“A hospital employee told Janice Rand that Mr. Kirk was the Kolinahr survivor,” Chekov says through the speaker, sounding meek. “The story is going out in the evening edition of the paper.”

Leonard looks furious as Jim feels himself wilting. “What?” he yells. “Can’t Pike stop it? She’s interfering with an active investigation and could put our witness at risk! _Plus_ his medical records are _confidential_!”

“Pike is heading down to her office,” Chekov replies. “The paper is saying that because Mr. Kirk is already a public figure, it doesn’t matter.”

Jim’s eyes widen in disbelief. “My father _was_ a public figure, not _me_!” he argues.

“Un _fucking_ believable!” Leonard growls. “That stupid bitch! And what about the hospital employee?”

“Fired.”

Leonard purses his lips together. “I’m going down there and giving Ms. Rand a piece of my goddamn mind,” he says into the phone. “Tell Pike that Jim and I will meet him there.” He hangs up the phone before Chekov can tell him otherwise and looks at Jim. “Call your lawyer on our way over. Maybe that will rattle them.”

Jim finds himself walking into _The Chronicle_ offices not even a half hour later with Leonard leading the way. He is like an animal ready to attack and thirsty for blood, despite the sedate pace he keeps for Jim’s sake. The paper’s staff looks at them in awe or disbelief, someone even looking frightened when they see the FBI agent. Something tells Jim that Leonard’s done this before as he marches right to the editor’s office and barges in without knocking.

“Oh,” Janice Rand says with a sneer on her red lips. “Now the party can _really_ begin. Leonard McCoy is here!”

Leonard gnashes his teeth together. “You have _some_ nerve, Janice!” he growls as he starts to charge her. Pike holds him back and speaks quietly into his ear. “Did you run out of trash to write about? Is that why you’re leaking _confidential_ information during an ongoing investigation?”

“Jim Kirk is a _public_ figure,” she replies coolly. Janice tilts her head in Jim’s direction and gives him a once over. “You’re looking pretty good for someone who should be dead.”

Jim presses his lips together and ignores her, knowing full well that she’s just trying to provoke him. Janice has that effect on her targets; their emotions only add to the nonsense she writes. She especially dislikes Jim for reasons he can’t fathom, starting from a piece she did to mark the twentieth anniversary of his father and brother’s murders. Perhaps it was the composed and slightly clipped answers he gave her or that he wasn’t some strung out rich kid; she hates him. “Janice,” he says dryly. “It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Janice tells him nonchalantly. She leans against her editor’s desk with her arms crossed over her chest. “So tell me, when is your lawyer going to call?”

Leonard points a finger at her. “Right after he’s done making that hospital employee that they wished they’ve never been born!”

“I was asking _him_ ,” Janice says while rolling her eyes before turning back to Jim. “Or did you decide to play humble?”

Jim smirks. “I believe he is currently on the phone with your legal department,” he replies. “Printing medical information without my consent is a violation of HIPAA. You should know that, Janice.”

“I’m not printing your medical information.”

“But you are verifying that he was hospitalized on the night that the attack was reported,” Pike interjects. “Thus identifying him as the survivor and interfering with an ongoing investigation.”

Janice looks at Pike. “Why? Is his life in danger?”

“I am not at liberty to disclose that information,” Pike says as nicely as possible. Jim watches as the man even includes a charming grin. “We _are not_ the San Francisco Police, Ms. Rand. The FBI operates on an entirely different playing field and believe me when I say, you _do not_ want to piss us off.” He turns to the editor, who is clearly mulling over his options. “Not only will we file an injunction to halt the evening issue, it’s already being reviewed by Judge Troi. And Mr. Kirk’s lawyer is surely going to file a suit in regards to an invasion of privacy and emotional distress. If I were you, I’d do the right thing.”

The editor looks at his three guests and Janice, who looks positively livid. “Fine,” he finally says. “We’ll pull the story.”

“And you will not report about Mr. Kirk’s involvement in the investigation until it’s been closed,” Pike adds. “Nor will you identify him.”

The editor nods. “Of course,” he says dourly.

“You are infringing on my First Amendment Rights!” Janice practically shrieks, balling her fists at her sides.

Leonard snorts. “I’m pretty sure our forefathers didn’t intend for people like _you_ to infringe on a person’s privacy and publish confidential information,” he hisses.

“You’re still pissed about the exposé I did on your father,” Janice says with a smile. She looks at Jim and shrugs. “Did he tell you about his daddy, Jim? How he mutilated, disemboweled, and slashed his way through hookers before going home to his doting wife and loving son?”

Jim watches as Leonard’s cheeks flush in anger and how the agent says nothing. He suspects it’s because it’s true and there is nothing someone can do it refute it. “Bones,” Jim whispers as he places a hand on the agent’s chest. “Let’s go.”

There is a brief moment that he thinks Leonard will push his hand aside and go after Janice, but in the end, he leaves the office in a huff with Pike and Jim in his wake. It’s just as well because Jim doesn’t have the energy to pull the agent out of the room.

“I’ll drive you and Leonard back,” Pike says as they follow Leonard to the elevators. He must see how weary Jim is feeling.

It’s not surprising - after all he _should_ be a dead man.

 

* * *

 

The car ride back to Leonard’s apartment is quiet except for the sound of Jim’s soft snores as he dozes off in the backseat. He’s surprised that he’s not getting an earful from Pike, who has no barbs about admonishing someone for misconduct. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, not wanting to wake the other occupant.

“She stepped over the line,” Pike replies as he continues driving. “Bringing your father into it… you _are not_ him, Len.”

Leonard sighs as he nods, resting his arm against the window. “I know.” They lapse into silence as Pike waits through traffic on Market. Leonard turns his head to check on Jim, who appears to be resting quite comfortably. His cheeks look a little flushed, probably from being up and about, but he looks healthier than he has since they met at the hospital. “I told Jim… about my dad.”

“I was wondering why he didn’t blink when Janice started in,” Pike says with a grin. He glances at the rearview mirror to look at the person in question. “The kid is a lot like his father. Smart, resourceful, _brave_.”

Leonard turns again and sees Jim adjusting his head against the seat in his sleep. “You’d have to be brave to face the Kolinahr _and_ Janice Rand all within a week and a half span.”

They pull up outside of Leonard’s apartment, the jolt of the car stopping rousing Jim from his nap. He yawns and palms the left side of his face before sliding out of the car. Leonard is at his side and guiding him into the building with a quick goodbye to Pike. “You look like you could use a nap, kid,” he says as they ride up to his floor in the elevator.

Jim only nods tiredly and closes his eyes, leaning against Leonard. He finds himself grinning as Jim perfectly slots into the curve of his body. He wraps his arm around the span of the kid’s shoulders and leads him into his apartment where Leonard helps Jim remove his shoes and hoodie. Once they are in the guest room, they make quick work of the jeans that the younger man put on before they left. Leonard pulls back the bed linens and watches Jim as he slips between them. “If you need anything, just holler,” he tells his guest.

As he turns to leave, Jim’s hand catches him by the wrist. Leonard looks down at the pair of tired eyes at stares up at him. “Stay,” Jim says hoarsely.

Leonard cups Jim’s cheek and nods. “Okay,” he replies as he kicks off his shoes and climbs over the comforter to lay behind the younger man.

He smiles against the back of Jim’s neck when he pushes himself back into Leonard, allowing them to spoon. Leonard drapes his arm over Jim’s waist and joins him in a much-needed nap.


	5. Chapter 5

Leonard finds himself on his back with Jim nestled into his side and a limp arm draped over his stomach.

With one hand trapped under Jim, he palms his face with the other as the guest room comes into view in hues of orange and pink from the sunset outside. Leonard turns and finds himself grinning while he watches Jim continue to rest. Leonard wants to kiss him awake, continuing their earlier encounter in the bathroom, but he realizes how exhausted Jim appears. He presses his hand against Jim’s forehead, feeling the overly warm skin against his own. It’s a low-grade fever at best. He moves his hand to Jim’s cheek, watching him flinch at the touch, and pulls back, waiting to see if Jim wakes up. He just wrinkles his nose and adjusts his head with a sigh.

Leonard slowly slips his trapped arm out from under Jim and moves it around to get rid of the sudden feeling of pins and needles. He gets off the bed to stretch when he hears his cell phone going off in the hallway. He figures it’s one of his colleagues calling to hear more about the showdown with Janice and doesn’t rush leaving Jim’s side. Instead, he goes to the bedside lamp and flicks it on, dimming it enough so that his guest can continue resting but still know where he is when he wakes up. The cell phone goes off again, followed by knocking at his front door.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Leonard grumbles as he goes to answer it. He hears Scotty and Nyota conversing on the other side, the former’s voice booming through the walls. “Coming!” he shouts when Scotty starts to pound on the door. “Jesus, keep it down!”

Scotty has a devious grin on his face when Leonard opens the door. “Just wanted to make sure you were alive,” he says.

“And we brought food,” Nyota adds as she holds up a bag.

Leonard lets them into his apartment, locking the door behind them. “Just don't make too much noise,” he tells them as they head to the kitchen. “Jim is asleep.”

Scotty pokes his head into the guest room and cranes his head back. “Aw…look at that wee little lamb!” he whispers loudly.

“Scotty,” Leonard groans. “Come _on_!” He rolls his eyes when Scotty cackles and continues on.

Nyota nudges him. “How’s he doing?” she asks as they pass by the guest room.

“I think he may have overdone it today,” Leonard answers.

Nyota’s lips quirk into a grin. “I heard about you two going up against Janice Rand,” she quips. “Kudos, by the way, for getting that story pulled. Pike said that Kirk’s lawyer threatened to sue _The Chronicle_ out of business if they even thought about printing a speck of ink.”

“She shouldn’t have written it,” Leonard sighs. “He’s already been through enough with this whole mess.”

Nyota shrugs. “We all know Rand is a bottom feeder.”

“Who’s a bottom feeder, lassie?” Scotty asks as they appear in the kitchen. He is uncorking a bottle of wine with the corkscrew from his Swiss Army knife.

Nyota sets the bag down on the table. “Rand.”

“Oh,” Scotty replies with a frown. “Never liked her much. Nasty bitch, if you ask me.”

Leonard finds himself chuckling as he helps Nyota unload the Indian food onto the kitchen table. “You know, I do have food in the house,” he tells her later on.

“I know,” Nyota replies as she swirls her glass of wine. “I figured that since you’re working overtime with Kirk being here, I would do my part.”

He pats his colleague’s arm and smiles. “Say, any word on John Harrison?” Leonard asks.

“Not a lick,” Scotty says. “It appears he’s out of town.”

“How convenient.”

Scotty shrugs. “We’ll track him down sooner or later,” he comments. “Pike wants him brought in for questioning as soon as he comes back.”

“That should be interesting,” Nyota grouses before drinking down the rest of her wine. She smacks her lips together and leans back in her seat.

They stay for a while longer before Scotty realizes it’s nearly eleven and the trains stop running in an hour. Leonard walks them to the door, thanking them for the food and company. “Shoot me a text when you get home,” he tells them both before shutting the door. Leonard goes back to the kitchen, passing by the guest room where Jim is still asleep. He sees the lump that has moved to the center of the bed and how the comforter rises and falls with Jim’s breathing.

Leonard decides that he’ll check on his guest after he clears away the food and dishes in the kitchen. He hums a tune under his breath as he puts the food in the refrigerator and runs the dirty flatware under the sink before arranging them in the dishwasher. As he shuts the machine, Leonard hears a whimper that falls silent as soon as it began. He waits for a moment, listening to the sounds of the apartment and then goes back to setting the cleaning cycle on the dishwasher. As the machine turns on, Leonard hears the whimper again - louder and more frantic this time.

He rushes down the hallway, towards the sound of Jim crying out. Leonard slides into the doorway to see the younger man struggling in the bed, clearing having a nightmare as his limbs flailing against invisible enemies. Leonard turns on the overhead light and hurries to Jim’s bedside. “Hey,” he says over Jim’s incoherent cries. “Jim, it’s okay. It’s okay; you’re safe.” Leonard grips his shoulders and shakes him gently to rouse Jim. “Jim, you’re okay. Shh…open your eyes.”

One of the younger man’s arms reaches out to claw a pillow, the motion jarring him out of sleep and filling the room with a different kind of whimpering. Jim’s eyes fly open and a shriek of pain escapes his lips as he rolls into a ball, gasping. Leonard sees the cause of his anguish immediately as an ominous red stain forms on the material of his shirt.

“I’ll be right back,” Leonard tells Jim as he rushes to grab his phone and a towel. As he goes back into the guest room, he dials Geoff’s number and climbs onto the bed. Leonard lifts Jim’s shirt up to sees the torn stitches over his shoulder blade and the blood that streams out of the wound. He applies pressure, using the towel to soak up the blood, and hushes Jim as he moans.

Geoff picks up. “What now?” he barks.

“I need you to make a house call,” Leonard says to his friend. Once he has hung up, Leonard leans over Jim and strokes his hair, uttering a litany of ‘you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay’ into his ear. Tears of pain seep out from Jim’s lids, wetting his dark lashes and disappearing onto the pillow.

Geoff makes it Leonard’s apartment in ten minutes, probably breaking a half dozen laws and god knows what else to get there. When he walks inside, he’s all business and carrying his leather satchel. “I’m not accustomed to doing this, so it better be good,” Geoff says as he follows Leonard to the guest room. “What happened?”

“He had a nightmare,” Leonard replies to which the doctor nods in understanding. He goes to the other side of the bed and sits next to Jim, whose skin is ashen and clammy. “You remember Dr. M’Benga, don’t you?” Jim nods, swallowing roughly as he opens his eyes.

Geoff gently lifts the shirt off Jim’s back to inspect the damage. Leonard knows that it’s not as catastrophic as it could have been, but still painful nonetheless. “I’m going to give you something for the pain if that’s okay with you, Mr. Kirk.”

“Please,” Jim stammers, reaching for Leonard’s hand and squeezing it. He shudders and closes his eyes, groaning softly.

Geoff is quick about giving him a shot of lidocaine after cutting away his blood-soaked shirt. He talks Jim through the process and tries to make it as painless as possible. Leonard cradles Jim’s hand through it all, tracing patterns on the other man’s skin with his thumb until the medication takes effect. His grip loosens in increments until Jim sighs with relief. Geoff starts asking his patient mundane questions while he gets to work on suturing his shoulder blade, giving Leonard a chance to throw out the blood-soaked towel and shirt. He pours a glass of orange juice for Jim and grabs one of those silly plastic straws with a tropical bird attached to them (a gift from Pavel) before returning to the guest room. Geoff is still speaking to Jim as he works on another stitch when Leonard comes in. He pauses to see glance up at the straw and snorts, which Leonard ignores as he goes to Jim’s bedside.

“I brought you something to drink,” he says softly, easing the straw to Jim’s lips. “You haven’t eaten since breakfast and we don’t want you getting hypoglycemic.” He looks on as Jim opens his mouth without comment and begins to sip on the orange juice.

Once the last suture is finished, Geoff looks over the others to make sure they are in no danger of tearing and to see their progress. “Mr. Kirk,” the doctor intones as he starts to pack up. “I’m leaving some Tylenol with codeine for you to take as needed.”

“Thank you,” Jim replies tiredly.

Geoff nods as he pats Jim’s bare arm. “Get some rest,” he says before Leonard and he leaves the guest room. “I took his temperature when you were getting him something to drink.”

“How bad is it?” Leonard asks as he reaches to unlock the door.

Geoff shrugs. “It’s ninety-nine; low grade, but definitely something you should keep an eye on for the next day or so,” he answers. “Fluids, rest. You know the drill.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow and give you an update,” Leonard tells him as Geoff steps out into the hallway. His friend waves him off as he heads towards the elevator. He shuts the door and after locking it, he goes back into the guest room where Jim is.

The kid looks like he’s regaining the color to his face and is staring at Leonard when he comes into the room. An exhausted smile appears on his lips. “I’ll get you a new towel,” he attempts to quip.

“Don’t worry about it,” Leonard says as he kneels in front of Jim. He runs his fingers through the young man’s sweat-dampened hair. “How about a shower?”

Jim raises a brow. “What about the stitches?” he asks.

“So long as you don’t soak them, they should be fine,” Leonard assures as he offers Jim a hand. “Come on, kid.” He helps Jim to his feet and waits as he grabs another t-shirt and a pair of sweats before they go to the bathroom.

Jim sits on the toilet, shucking off his boxers as Leonard fiddles with the water. He turns to the younger man and tries not to stare at his naked body. In truth, Jim Kirk is a work of art and consists of lithe muscle, clean lines, and miles of fair skin dotted with wayward freckles.

“Shower’s ready,” he tells Jim. 

Jim is about to get inside when he hesitates and glances at Leonard. “I need help washing my hair,” he says in all seriousness.

Leonard wants to roll his eyes and pretend that he didn’t hear his charge, but he knows that any unnecessary movement could make the pain a whole lot worse once the lidocaine wears off. Also, Geoff will give him hell if Jim tears his stitches again. “Give me just a second,” he replies. Leonard removes his clothing, dumping it on the tile floor of the bathroom as he feels Jim’s blue-eyed stare on him. When he turns around, there is a grin on Jim’s face.

“Not bad, Bones,” Jim quips tiredly as he checks him out. “I can _definitely_ work with this.”

Leonard rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You _are not_ going to work with anything, kid,” he grouses as he pushes Jim into the shower stall. “You are going to relax even if it kills us both.” Leonard grabs the shampoo and backs Jim up against the glass. “And close your eyes.”

“If you think about it, Bones, it would be a good death,” Jim laughs as his lids shut. He is grinning like a loon as Leonard pours the shampoo into his hand and starts to lather it up in Jim’s hair.

He runs his fingers over Jim’s scalp, massaging and scrubbing as the kid makes grunts of appreciation every so often. There is something incredibly natural about what they are doing, despite only knowing each other for a week or so. Leonard eases Jim’s head under the stream of running water and snakes his hand around his waist, pressing their bodies together. He can feel Jim’s nose brush against his collarbone and the softness of his lips against his skin. “Jim?”

“Hmm?” the younger man responses as he lifts his head off Leonard’s shoulder. His eyes look bluer with the water surrounding them, if it’s even possible. Jim licks his lips as he meets Leonard’s gaze. “Yeah?”

Leonard leans in, brushing his lips against Jim’s. As far as first kisses go it’s fairly chaste, though his blood roars in his ears. Leonard imagines it’s what people mean when they have a life-altering experience; how everything falls into place and just feels _right._ It certainly gives them a definite answer in regards to their mutual attraction. He presses his mouth against Jim’s, a little harder this time, and brings his hand up to cradle the base of his skull.

Their mouths move against each other in a slow dance of lips and tongue, sleepy and lazy as water beats down on them. He presses Jim up against the glass, groaning as their erections brush against each other. Leonard wants to touch Jim all over; taste his skin and mouth a trail of love bites from head to toe. There will be another time for that when Jim is done recovering and Leonard can lay him out on his bed. They rut lazily against each other until Leonard takes them in hand and begins using the water as a lubricant.

Jim breaks the kiss, allowing both of their moans to pierce the space between them. Leonard listens to the soft and wordless expressions of pleasure as Jim pants against his neck, mouthing the skin and licking it with his tongue. He half expects the scrape of teeth and suction, but Jim surprises him with feather-light ministrations and the rolling of his hips in time with Leonard’s hand.

He goes slow, taking his time to get them both to the cusp of orgasm. There’s no frantic rush for this to end quickly, just the two of them in Leonard’s apartment. Leonard’s stomach is coiling with warmth that spreads to his groin and settles, building and growing.

“Bones,” Jim gasps against his ear, his voice wrecked and so fucking sexy that Leonard can only moan in reply.

Their mouths collide again just as Leonard climaxes, becoming hungry as he trembles. Jim seizes against him, his body growing taut until he joins Leonard with a breathless cry. Being the gentleman he is, Leonard strokes them both until there is nothing left but a post-orgasm delirium and their bodies perfectly melded together.

 

* * *

 

The first time Jim wakes up in Leonard’s bed, the sun is just rising over San Francisco and dimly filtering into the bedroom.

He’s pressed up against the agent’s back; his face nestled against Leonard’s neck, his nose tickled by his dark hair, and their fingers intertwined. The clean scent of the other man’s skin and hair reaches his nostrils, making Jim nuzzle the back of Leonard’s neck with a sleepy grin. His lips brush against the freckles that dot Leonard’s back and finds it to be warm like the rest of his body.

He didn’t know what to expect when Leonard joined him in the shower. The request had been innocent enough (though on second thought, Jim realizes that his intentions hadn’t been _entirely_ pure) and while seeing Leonard in all his naked glory was quite the treat, he didn’t think it would lead to anything.

But it had and it had been exactly what he needed and wanted. Once they could breathe again, Leonard murmured in his ear, “let’s wash off, darlin’” before guiding Jim and himself back under the showerhead with a kiss. Leonard helped him dry off his back, gently patting the towel against his skin and brushing his lips against Jim’s nape. The soft touches eased Jim into a state of relaxation he hadn’t felt since the attack, perhaps even before that. Afterward, Leonard led him into the master bedroom to change into their respective pajamas and ensconced them in bed linens that smelled of him.

Jim inches himself closer to Leonard, allowing the other man’s warmth to sink through the material of his shirt. As he starts to drift off again, he swears he feels Leonard’s fingers tighten around his own.

Leonard comes into the bedroom with a tray of food when he opens his eyes for the second time. He has put on a shirt and he's smiling when he sees that Jim is awake. “Mornin’” he greets as he sets the tray down on a flat portion of the bed. “I thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Hard to sleep without my favorite body pillow,” Jim yawns and grins at the sound of the other man snorting in reply. He slowly sits up and leans into the pillows Leonard moves to support his back. “So what did you make me for breakfast?”

Leonard rolls his eyes. “I made _us_ scrambled eggs, bacon, and waffles,” he grumbles playfully before leaning in to kiss Jim. They linger, allowing Leonard to take his time as he slowly opens up Jim’s mouth with lips and tongue. “Are you hungry?” Leonard asks teasingly when they part.

“I am,” Jim replies softly. “But not for food.” He smiles at the annoyed expression on Leonard’s face and pulls him into another kiss just as Leonard begins calling him an infant.


	6. Chapter 6

Jim is curled up next to Leonard when the latter’s cell phone goes off.

He watches as the agent reaches for the phone as he keeps his eyes on his book and picks up with a distracted “McCoy.” Jim chuckles under his breath and rolls his eyes as he goes back to catching up on his emails.

Scotty, one of Leonard’s colleagues, mercifully brought the laptop over the evening before along with his cell phone. “Now, we have bugged the phone in case that Harrison bloke tries to contact you,” Scotty had explained as he handed over the items. “If you call for a hooker, we’ll know about it.”

He is surprised that he managed to keep his mouth shut about not needing a hooker when he had something better.

 _Someone_ better.

Jim sits close enough to Leonard to rest his head on his shoulder and takes advantage of the broadness while he continues typing an email to his accountant. He enjoys being able to glom himself to Leonard as if they’ve always done been like this and allow the warmth of him to sink into Jim’s bones. It’s similar to putting on a favorite sweatshirt with the exception that it’s a human being and, in Jim’s humble opinion, quite extraordinary to look at.

“Uh huh,” Leonard says into the phone as he sets the book face down on his comforter covered lap. He leans over and gives Jim a peck on the cheek before slipping out of the bed.

Jim watches as Leonard pads out of the bedroom and goes down the hallway, his voice becoming muffled as the distance between them grows. Jim quirks a brow and then goes back to his email. The next one has a subject in all caps that screams _WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?_  from Gaila, followed by his cell phone going off.

He reaches for the device, mindful of his stitches, and sees his best friend’s picture pop up on the screen. “I’m alive,” he groans after picking up.

“I went by your place, James Tiberius Kirk, and there were _fucking cops_ everywhere!” Gaila barks into the phone, clearly not pacified. “Cops, Jim! What the _hell_ is going on?”

Jim sinks against the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut. “Are you driving or operating heavy machinery?” he asks.

“Jim, I swear to…”

“Okay! All right!” he exclaims. “First of all, they aren’t cops; they’re FBI agents—”

Gaila starts cursing a blue streak, something Jim is used to. She is the youngest of five siblings—all boys, of course—and a Boston gal through and through. She’s two years older than him and is incredibly overprotective of Jim, who she views as a surrogate baby brother especially after Frank passed away.

“Jim! _FBI agents_? What the hell happened?” she shrieks into the phone. “Was it that John guy? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him!”

“No,” Jim says weakly. “It wasn’t him…I’m fine. I’ve been better, but I’m in one piece more or less.”

“More or less!”

Jim shakes his head. “God Gaila, calm down!” he hisses. “The investigation is active and I can’t talk about it, okay? Not even to _you_.”

“Jimmy,” she sighs into the phone like a concerned mother. Or at least how Jim always imagined it would be like if his own had been around. “Are you somewhere safe?”

Leonard comes back into the bedroom with a strained expression and goes to the dresser to pull out clothes. He ignores the fact that Jim is on the phone and disappears again with a pair of slacks from the closet.

Jim pouts, knowing that Leonard probably has to go back to work. “I’m safe,” he assures. “I promise, Gaila.”

“Are they cooping you up somewhere?” she asks, her tone exponentially lighter than it was a moment ago. “Is it nice, at least?”

Jim shifts in a vain attempt to make himself comfortable. “Yeah. It’s not bad though…the quiet is kind of nice,” he replies as he surveys the surroundings that are comprised of Leonard’s bedroom. The earth tones and dark wood should be considered boring and expected, but in here it’s warm and comforting. Jim’s spent the last two days in varying forms of undress and consciousness; all of it with Leonard orbiting around him.

They haven’t had penetrative sex as of yet, mostly because of the idea of friction on his back while the sutures are still in him makes Jim want to cry. He’s resigned to clipped, robotic movements and having to go at a snail’s pace. Leonard takes full advantage of this and makes them go _slow_ as they lay in a panting heap of naked, sweaty limbs. It’s _him_ who takes control and murmurs sweetly into Jim’s ear with a _drawl_ that makes his toes curl and a moan dislodge from his throat. It’s his hands that keep Jim’s hips pinned to the mattress with one strong arm pressed across his pelvis while his free hand strokes Jim’s cock. And it’s Leonard’s mouth that swallows Jim down, causing him to lose his mind.

Of course, Jim has his own fun; he cups Leonard’s buttocks and uses them to move his hips in a slow, steady pace as the agent’s cock slides in and out of his mouth.

When Leonard’s eyes are closed, he looks up to see the blissed-out expression that relaxes his features and the way his mouth falls open to moan. If handjobs and oral sex can get them this riled up, Jim can’t even imagine what it will be like to be fucked by Leonard. And he’s definitely going to be fucking him.

“Jim?” Gaila calls, sounding worried. “Are you still with me, space cadet?”

He clears his throat. “Still here,” he replies before wrinkling his features in distaste. “And I’m _not_ a space cadet!”

“You are, but you’re mine,” Gaila retorts sweetly. “So when can I see you?”

Leonard comes back into the bedroom carrying his previously worn clothing, which he dumps before heading to the closet to rummage around. Jim watches as the agent’s broad shoulders shift under the material of his button down. “I’ll need to ask,” Jim tells her.

“You’re thirty-four years old, Jim!” Gaila huffs. He can almost picture her tossing her shocking red curls behind her shoulder. “You don’t _need_ permission.”

Jim rolls his eyes and slumps against the pillows. “In this case, I do,” he grunts. “Can I call you back later?”

“You _better_ call me back, James,” Gaila says sternly. “I mean it!”

“Yes, _mom_.”

Gaila snorts. “I find _that_ very insulting.”

“Love you, Gaila,” Jim chirps.

“Yeah, yeah…I love you, too,” Gaila deadpans before giggling.

Jim hangs up just as Leonard decides on a tie and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Got a hot date?” he asks.

“Hot date with my team,” the agent replies gruffly, his attention directed at the navy blue tie that is a source of irritation. “Nyota is on her way over. I told her that you were in my room since the television is in here.”

Jim watches Leonard trying to knot the tie just so, silently amazed that someone with such nimble hands would have so much trouble. “Do you need help?” he finally asks. He grins when Leonard concedes and scoots over to Jim. “Is everything okay? Did they find John?”

“No,” Leonard replies as he stares at Jim. “Where did you learn to do this?”

Jim shrugs as he concentrates. “My stepdad taught me,” he explains as he loops the tie. “I went to Town from kindergarten until eighth grade. It’s a private, all-boys school here in the city and we had to wear uniforms. So the night before my first day, Frank took me into the bathroom and plopped me up on the counter to have me watch him do it. Then we practiced until I got it right and when he picked me up from school the next day, we went to get ice cream.” He catches the fond smile on Leonard’s lips and returns it with one of his own.

“I’ll need to keep that in mind when I need you to pay attention,” Leonard comments in a husky tone.

Jim blushes as he finishes up with the agent’s tie. “You won’t have any problem with that,” he says quietly right before Leonard leans in to kiss him. He lets out a sigh as his eyes slip shut and sinks into his lips.

It’s a case of bad timing that Leonard’s cell phone goes off and he breaks the kiss with a groan to answer the call. “You’re downstairs?” he asks without saying hello. “Okay…good. If it gets too late, the sheets are clean and your extra set of clothes are in the dresser. Yeah…I’ll be right down.” Leonard hangs up and looks at Jim longingly. “I’ll try to come back soon.”

“Don’t wait up?” Jim inquires as the agent’s lips brush against his forehead.

Leonard’s fingers brush the side of his face until they reach his chin and ease his head up. Their lips meet again, but only for a moment. “I’ll wake you up when I get back,” he promises.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Jim whispers.

 

* * *

 

Pike looks supremely agitated as he raises the tape for Leonard to walk under and hands him a pair of latex gloves.

The press and civilian observers are hovering at the fringes of the apartment building, despite the chilly weather. Their faces have a mixture of curiosity and concern etched into them, as none of the agents are telling them a thing. Except to stay back and out of the way. The residents of the apartment are huddled at their closed windows, staring at the madness on the street below. Leonard wishes he brought a jacket with him because it’s always freezing in the Marina at night.

Or better yet that he was back in his apartment with Jim, whose body is warm and pliable. As he walks alongside Pike, he can practically hear the filthy whispers and sounds of Jim’s begging ringing in his ears. The kid somehow manages to make the silly nickname he gave Leonard sound like a token of debauchery when he moans, “Bones” into the charged air of the bedroom.

“You _are not_ going to like this,” Pike warns as they walk through the crowded lobby of the apartment building. It rouses Leonard back to a reality of flashing lights and the smell of death lingering in the air.

He shrugs. “I never like late night calls,” Leonard grouses as he pulls on the gloves. “Is it him?”

Pike nods. “It’s definitely him,” he says as they rush the stairs.

The building has no elevator, thank god. The third floor is filled with agents and the medical examiner’s office. Leonard spots Christine Chapel’s white-blonde hair in the crowd and catches her eye. She gives him a dimpled smile and motions the agents over.

“We need to stop meeting like this, Leonard,” she teases when they are close enough. Christine is always unnaturally perky at all hours of the day and without the assistance of caffeine. She’s the ME’s Office own Little Miss Mary Sunshine. “Evening Chris.”

Pike nods at her. “Always a pleasure to see you, Christine,” he says. “Why don’t you lead the way?”

“Of course,” Christine replies with morbid enthusiasm and leads them into the spotless apartment. “She’s in the bedroom.”

Leonard balks. “ _She_?” he squawks as he pushes past Christine and rushes into the bedroom. He stops at the doorway and lets out a gasp as his eyes fall upon the crime scene.

The room is bathed in blood and carnage; limbs torn and scattered all over the floor. Someone is photographing the bed where remnants of the victim remain; their blood coating a comforter that Leonard suspects used to be white. Above the bed are two arms that were cut below the elbow and hammered into the wall. There is a message written in blood like there always is. Leonard steps into the room, trying to ignore the smell of decaying flesh and coppery tang of blood, to get a closer look.

The words are written as if the Kolinahr was angry; the lines jagged and messy. _Bitch had it coming_ , it says, so clear and filled with rage that Leonard can feel it resonating in his bones. He turns to the bed and shouts in surprise as he finds himself staring at Janice Rand’s lifeless eyes.

“Oh god…” Leonard breathes, stumbling away from the bed. Christine and Pike are standing across from him, their faces grim as they survey the scene. He swallows down the bile that burns his throat and runs a gloved hand through his hair. “Walk me through it.”

Christine and Pike exchange a glance before the former steps forward. “She’s been dead for at least a day, given the stage of rigor in her body. The slash to her neck was done while she was still alive - I’m thinking a bowie knife or something similar because of the jagged edges of the wound. He cut through the skin, tissues and right down to the vertebrae. The fifth and sixth have deep notches and there could be more, but I’ll know more once we take her down to the morgue.”

“Did that kill her?” Leonard asks as he looks at Janice’s violently dismembered body.

Christine shakes her head and points to the dead woman’s chest cavity that has been cut open. “He severed her carotid artery,” she explains. “The injury was inflicted while she was lying towards the right side of the bed. I mean…look at the radius of the blood splatter.”

“I’ll let you handle that,” Leonard comments. There is saliva pooling in his mouth from the gore that surrounds them and he wants to get out of here as soon as possible.

The three of them go through the scene as the smell of death and decay fill their nostrils. Christine handles this with ease given the nature of her job while Leonard and Pike need to exit the room a few times to get fresh air. When they come back, she smiles and continues where she left off.

“What else?” Leonard asks as Christine points out the flaps of skin missing from Janice’s thighs. Four hours have crawled by and all he can smell is the coppery tang of blood. When he looks at his cell phone, Leonard realizes that it’s nearly one in the morning.

Christine shrugs. “I’ll know more once we get her down to the morgue, but he was definitely angry when he went after Ms. Rand. This lacks his usual finesse; when Olson, Barnett, Marcus, and Riley were dismembered, it was done post-mortem and cleanly. Our guy went to town on her. The right side of her face is almost unrecognizable; he’s removed internal organs and thrown them around…”

“I think that’s enough,” Pike cuts in, sounding like he may lose his lunch. He holds his hand to his mouth and appears to be swallowing. “Leonard, a word?” Thankfully his superior has the state of mind to have a word with Leonard on the rooftop deck where the air is fresher. “I didn’t expect this.”

Leonard feels the chilly air sting his lungs and he nods. “Neither did I,” he replies quietly as he looks towards Fort Mason. “I think he’s sending us a warning.”

“A warning for what?” Pike asks. “A warning that we better find him or else?”

Leonard nods. “Exactly,” he answers. “He _wants_ us to find him; that’s what he’s always wanted. To the Kolinahr this is a game and he wants to see if we can outwit him.” He grips the railing and inhales deeply, shaking his head. “How should we handle this?”

“I’ll go over logistics with Archer later today,” Pike says. He runs his fingers through his damp hair and whistles. “This is getting messier and messier by the minute.”

“What about Harrison?”

“We got in touch with his assistant and she said he would be back tomorrow evening,” Pike replies. “It doesn’t seem like he’s in town or maybe he’s just good at dodging us.”

Leonard arches a brow. “Do you think he’ll come in willingly?”

“Let’s hope so.”

 

* * *

 

It’s almost two fifteen in the morning when Leonard creeps into his own apartment. 

He shuts the door quietly and locks it before taking off his shoes and loosens his tie. Nyota has left the hallway light on so that Leonard isn’t stumbling all over the place and making a racket in the otherwise quiet apartment. He decides that a shower is necessary and walks towards his room, passing by the guest bedroom whose door is shut. Leonard slips the tie through the collar of his shirt and shoves it into his front pocket before he starts to unbutton his shirt. He gently opens the door and smiles when he sees Jim laid out on the bed with a book folded on his lap. Leonard makes his way over to the bed and slips the book from Jim’s chest, setting it down on the bedside table.

Jim snuffles, but does not wake as he rolls towards the other man. The agent leans over to kiss the younger man’s brow. He dims the lamp on the bedside table.

Leonard finishes stripping off his clothing and heads to the bathroom for a quick and efficient shower. He rids himself of the scent of blood that Leonard swears he carried back to his apartment and brushes his teeth before he pulls on a pair of sweatpants once he is dry. Leonard goes about closing down the proverbial fort; double checking the front door, turning off the hallway light, and ensuring that everything is in order. He retires to the bedroom and lies down alongside Jim, who snores softly. Leonard inches up behind him and presses his lips to Jim’s nape. “Darlin’,” he whispers as he kisses Jim’s skin again. He nuzzles him with the tip of his nose, to which Jim grunts. “Hey darlin’, I’m back.”

Jim presses himself against the curve of Leonard’s body and yawns. He rolls over and tucks his head under the agent’s chin. “What time is it?” he mumbles.

“Late,” Leonard replies as he wraps his arms around Jim. He closes his eyes and inhales the scent of his hair as well as the warmth of his body. “I just wanted to let you know I was home. Go back to sleep.”

Jim nods and shoves his leg between Leonard’s. “Did something bad happen?” he asks in a muffled voice.

“Yeah,” Leonard tells him with a sigh as he cards his fingers through Jim’s hair. “I’ll tell you about it in the morning, okay?” He continues stroking his hair and massaging his scalp and after a while, Jim goes limp in Leonard’s arms.

He follows shortly after.

 

* * *

 

Nyota is up before either of them and when Leonard trudges into the kitchen, he sees the smirk on her face as she drinks her coffee.

“Morning sunshine,” she chirps, to which Leonard just grunts in reply. Nyota laughs into the mug and rolls her eyes. She mercifully waits until he’s had a few sips before saying, “So you and Jim, huh?”

“Yeah,” Leonard replies, too tired to deny it.

Nyota tilts her head. “That’s all you’ve got to say?” she inquires.

“Before I finish my first cup of coffee? Yes,” he retorts as he leans against the counter. “You don’t seem so surprised.”

Nyota shrugs and grabs the carton of creamer, which she promptly dumps into the mug. “You two seemed to hit it off rather quickly…despite the circumstances,” she comments. “So are you going to tell me what the big emergency was about?”

“Rand’s dead,” Leonard states.

“You’re joking.”

Leonard shakes his head. “‘Fraid not,” he sighs. “It was our guy.”

“Jesus,” Nyota whispers as she sets her mug down on the counter. She puts a hand to mouth and seems to be thinking of what to say next. “I never liked her,  _especially_ after that piece she did on your father, but no one deserves that.”

An uncomfortable silence falls over them as they stand in the kitchen. “I haven’t told Jim yet,” he says to Nyota. “He was asleep when I got back last night and I just couldn’t do it. Not right then.”

“You should tell him soon,” she urges. “He has an appointment with Dr. M’Benga to get his stitches removed at eleven.”

Leonard looks at the wall clock and realizes that it’s almost ten in the morning. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” he squawks on his way back to the bedroom.

“You two looked so cute all snuggled up together!” Nyota hollers from the kitchen with her laughter ringing through the apartment. Of course, she would tease him because it’s Nyota and they’ve been friends ever since he moved to San Francisco.

The rush of urgency Leonard feels disappears as soon as he opens the bedroom door to see Jim’s lashes fluttering as he tiredly rubs his face. Jim sits up in the bed and yawns as his eyes focus on Leonard. There is a grin on the younger man’s lips that Leonard returns as he approaches him.

“Morning,” he says while sitting down and reaching for Jim, who leans into him. “We have an appointment to get to.”

“For what?” Jim asks in a sleepy voice.

Leonard scratches his hair and snorts at the content hum Jim makes comes. “You’re getting your stitches removed,” he reminds Jim. Leonard gently tilts Jim’s chin so they are looking at each other. “I need to tell you something… about last night.” The younger man’s silence is all he needs to continue. “Janice Rand is dead.”

“Dead?” Jim asks in disbelief. His eyes are wide like the deepest parts of the ocean, so impossibly blue and dark. “It was _him_ , wasn’t it?”

Leonard inclines his head. “It was,” he whispers. He hears Jim make a small, frightened sound that causes him to look up. The man before him looks like he’s on the verge of tears despite his less than friendly feelings towards Janice Rand. “Is there something I can do?”

“I want to see Gaila after my appointment,” Jim replies, though it sounds like a plea. 

“Of course, darlin’,” Leonard tells him.

This seems to brighten Jim’s mood, though not by much. They dress and leave the apartment in relative silence with Nyota driving them to the hospital.

Leonard stands in the room as Geoff examines Jim, then removes his stitches except for the ones on his shoulder blade. He wonders if the relief of the black thread being taken out of Jim’s skin will lessen the sting of Janice’s death.

Geoff hands Jim a slip of paper. “Mederma,” he states. “Apply it three times a day and we’ll follow up in a month to see how the scars are healing. If we need to use more intense methods, I can refer you to a plastic surgeon. Leonard can remove the stitches on your shoulder at the end of the week.”

“Thanks,” Jim says. He flashes the doctor a grin.

Geoff extends his hand and returns the grin. “You are a brave young man, Mr. Kirk,” he says as they shake hands. 

They leave the hospital and find Nyota waiting next to the car, absently twirling the keychain around her finger. Without a word, she gets into the driver’s side and starts the engine. Leonard slips into the passenger side, while Jim makes himself comfortable in the back. The drive to Oakland is quiet until they get off the Bay Bridge and Jim starts giving Nyota directions to Gaila O’Ryan’s Lake Merritt apartment.

Leonard doesn’t know what to expect when he meets Jim’s best friend, other than the stories he shared.

Gaila is waiting on the front steps of an Art Deco apartment building. She is all curly red hair that grows in wild profusion and buxom with skin like porcelain.

As soon as she sees Jim emerging from the car, her green eyes light up and she rushes to her feet, her arms open to embrace him. Leonard watches as she peppers Jim’s face with kisses and nearly squeezes the life out of him. Jim takes it all in stride and hugs her back, burying his face into the curve of her shoulder. “Jimmy,” Leonard hears Gaila whisper. She pulls back and he can see the tear in her eyes. “This is why you should get a dog. A _big_ one!”

Gaila kisses his cheek and turns towards Leonard and Nyota with a bright smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?” she teases, nudging Jim in the side.

Leonard watches Jim squirming against her as if he was Gaila’s little brother. “Nyota Uhura,” he says, gesturing towards Nyota who removes her sunglasses and extends her hand to Gaila. “And Leonard McCoy.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he drawls as Leonard shakes Gaila’s warm hand.

She smiles at him, her dimples showing. “I made us lunch. Follow me,” she announces, bouncing over to Jim and linking arms with him. Gaila leans in, giggling. “You better start spilling on the tall drink of water, mister,” Leonard hears her whisper to Jim, who turns bright pink and starts stuttering as they walk up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

Being back in Gaila’s apartment is like having some semblance of normalcy. 

It smells of rich produce, flowers, and incense that only add to the bright colors and bohemian charm that is his best friend. Jim is surprised how easily Nyota adapts to the off-kilter setting and chatting happily with Gaila as she sets the table.

“Why didn’t you offer to help?” Leonard inquires quietly as they stand in Gaila’s living room.

Jim is holding a perspiring glass of lemonade against his lower lip. “She’ll yell at me and tell me to sit my ass down,” he replies. He spies the dubious look on Leonard’s face and nods. “Go ask her!”

“Jim, you’re invalid,” Gaila hollers from the eat-in kitchen with an eerie sixth sense. “Sit your ass down on the couch!”

Leonard’s eyes are darting back and forth between Jim and Gaila, who goes back to chatting with Nyota. Jim just shrugs and goes over to the couch, where he sits down. His mind is still focused on Janice Rand and her murder at the hands of the Kolinahr Killer. He wonders if the Kolinahr did it to taunt him; to let him know that others would suffer because Jim escaped.

“You doing okay?” Leonard asks as he sits next to Jim. 

Jim swallows and shakes his head as runs his thumb over the rim of the glass. “I just keep thinking how it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t escaped,” he whispers.

“Jim no,” Leonard says sternly, inching closer to him. “Don’t think like that.”

He purses his lips together. “Easier said than done, Bones,” Jim replies quietly.

“He doesn’t like the attention to be taken away from him,” the agent explains as he fingers brush against the back of Jim’s neck. “That has nothing to do with you.” Leonard’s thumb rubs against his skin in a slow, soothing motion that makes Jim close his eyes. “Don’t blame yourself, kid. _Please_. It’s what he wants you to do.”

Jim is about to reply when Gaila claps her hands and cheerfully says, “Lunch time!” He looks up to see her standing in the doorway with a smile on her face. “I don’t know about you, McCoy, but Jim is _always_ hungry! If you don’t feed him, he’ll have a tantrum.”

“I will not!” Jim retorts as he and Leonard get up from the couch.

Gaila rolls her eyes. “See what I mean?” she deadpans, much to Leonard and Nyota’s amusement. The teasing is softened by her slipping her arm around Jim’s waist and hugging him as she guides him towards the spread of cold cuts, cheeses, slices of bread, and other assorted gourmet foods. Leave it to his best friend to go at warp speed and feeding her guests as much food as possible.

The visit is over too soon and Jim finds himself not willing to let go of Gaila as they hug in the lobby. When they pull away, she ruffles his hair with a grin. “Now you behave for the cute FBI agent,” she whispers into his ear.

“Who says I haven’t?” Jim quips back as they both cast a glance at Leonard’s direction. He is too busy speaking with Nyota to see the two of them conspiring.

Gaila taps his chest. “I _knew_ it,” she says excitedly. “You need to tell me!”

“Later,” he insists. “We need to get back before the bridge backs up.” He wraps his arm around Gaila’s shoulders and they walk outside to the car. The sun is still out, though Jim can see the marine layer rolling through the San Francisco Bay.

Gaila slips out from under him to say goodbye to Nyota when Leonard comes up behind Jim. “She’s nice,” he says.

“She is,” Jim agrees. He tilts his head and glances at the agent’s profile; the shadows, the way the sun hits Leonard’s eyes and makes them appear greener, his golden skin. “I think she likes you.”

Jim watches as Leonard’s lips quirk into a grin. “Was this the equivalent of meeting the parents?”

“Parent,” Jim corrects with a chuckle. “And yes, pretty much.” Leonard touches the small of his back, his hand like a sign of possession. Except Jim knows it’s not and the gesture is meant to be comforting. “I wish we were alone right now,” he admits.

Leonard leans in. “Soon darlin’,” he whispers into the shell of Jim’s ear.

Jim turns to face him head-on with a grin on his face when he sees a dark figure approaching them out. As they draw closer, he recognizes the pale blue eyes and even paler skin topped off with black hair.

The man’s features look furious and deadly and the grin on Jim’s face is gone in an instant. “J-john,” he stammers, his voice barely above a whisper.

Leonard must hear him or at least see the terror on Jim’s face because he turns around just as John Harrison launches himself at the agent, his hands out like claws.

John is agile, but Leonard is more so as he pins the man to the concrete in a single motion.

“Get the hell off _me_!” John shouts as he squirms from under Leonard.

Jim watches the cold expression on Leonard’s face as he pulls out his handcuffs, strapped onto to John’s wrist and then the other. “John Harrison, you are under arrest for assaulting a Federal Agent. You have the right to remain silent,” Leonard tells his assailant as Nyota pulls out her cell phone to call for backup. “You have the right to consult an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney…”

“I make more money than you’d ever dream of seeing!” John hisses. He looks up at Jim and stares at him like the man is staring into his soul. “I just wanted to see you, Jim. That’s all I wanted…”

Leonard is nonplussed as he continues on “…one will be appointed for you before questioning.”

“Get him upstairs,” Nyota orders to Gaila, who quickly rushes to Jim’s side. He doesn’t realize that he’s been completely frozen in place until his friend touches his arm. Gaila whispers into his ear and starts to lead Jim back inside.

He stares at Leonard and John the entire way, their exchange becoming white noise.


	7. Chapter 7

John Harrison is sitting in the interrogation room, his long legs outstretched in the most casual fashion while his right wrist is handcuffed to the table.

If he notices Leonard and Pike entering the room, he certainly doesn’t make a show of it. Instead, he’s looking at the neatly filed nails of his left hand and whistling a tune to pass the time. Seeing him in the flesh is far different from the single photograph. John has high cheekbones and skin like marble, offset by raven hair and the palest blue eyes Leonard has ever seen. His features are arranged on his face in a dignified fashion; straight and narrow nose, full Cupid’s bow lips, and short eyebrows. He could be an English lord if Leonard didn’t know better, except he does. John Harrison is a menace and has Jim fearing for his safety.

“Mr. Harrison,” Pike says as he and Leonard sit down.

Leonard observes John lifting his eyes to look at Pike with a glare of utter disdain, followed by an eye roll. It’s as if the man thinks he’s too good to be in their company.

“It’s my understanding that you wish to be questioned without your lawyer present,” Pike continues as he opens the manila folder in his possession.

John shrugs as he stares at the far wall of the room. “Your understanding is correct,” he replies flippantly. “Besides, my attorney shall be here shortly.”

“We’re in no rush, Mr. Harrison,” Pike assures to which John stares at him.

His gaze shifts from Pike to Leonard and back again. “I _am_ ,” he says coolly. “Shall we begin?”

“All right,” Pike replies, exchanging a glance with Leonard as he takes out a recorder and turns it on. “Interrogation session number one; subject is John Harrison. He has agreed to be questioned without his attorney present in regards to Case Number 1701-A. The time is six o’clock in the evening; the date is August 27th, 2014. Agents present are myself—Agent Christopher Pike—and Agent Leonard McCoy. What is your connection to Alexander Marcus?”

“I was commissioned to do a painting for his office,” John replies. “He was not pleased with my work and inferred it was too grotesque.”

Leonard watches Pike nod. “And Kevin Riley?” the older man asks.

“We were lovers for a time.”

“What about Richard Barnett?”

“I don’t believe I know him.”

Pike nods again. “You were commissioned to do a piece of artwork for the company he used to work for—Enterprise LLC.”

“Perhaps we met briefly, but I do not recall his face,” John comments.

“Greg Olson,” Pike says. “Did you know him?” When the other man shrugs, Pike shares a glance with Leonard. “Where were you the night of the thirteenth, Mr. Harrison?”

John pinches his lips together and thinks for a moment. “I was working at my studio,” he answers without looking at either of the agents. “ _Alone_.”

“Can anyone verify your whereabouts?”

“My assistant spoke with me around eight that evening.” Using his free hand, John traces the edge of the table with his thumb before looking up at them. “The one that you _pestered_. You must remember her.”

Pike seems to ignore the comment and goes on with his questioning. “And how late were you there?”

“At my studio?” John counters. “Let’s see…until midnight, at least. I tend to do my best work at night and I lose track of time.” He looks at Leonard, his expression like a statue. “You must know how that is.”

Leonard leans in and whispers into Pike’s ear, low enough that John cannot hear them. “Spock estimates that Kirk was taken between midnight and two in the morning.”

“After your studio, did you make any stops along the way home?” Pike asks.

John shifts in his seat and raises a brow. “What are you getting at, Agent Pike?”

“Mr. Kirk alleges that you broke into his condo on the evening of the tenth,” Leonard replies heatedly. “And that you had been harassing him for weeks. Are you aware of the Anti-Stalking Laws of the State of California, Mr. Harrison?”

He watches as John’s nostrils flare and his pale cheeks flush. “James is over exaggerating,” he grunts.

“Which point?”

“Both of them,” the other man replies. “We are both artistic and well respected in the community, so of course we have mutual friends. We’re bound to run into each other at events.”

Leonard reaches for the folder and pulls out a sheet of paper. “Were you bound to run into each other at the Town School for Boys Annual Fundraiser?” he inquires and sees John’s frown deepen. “Or the private Matisse event at the Legion of Honor that was specifically for major donors?”

John remains silent and starts to tap his finger against the table. The noise irritates Leonard and he wants to break the man’s finger. “He would not return my phone calls,” John finally responds. “And I did not understand why.”

“Perhaps it was because, in Mr. Kirk’s eyes, you were stalking him.”

“I was _not_ stalking him!”

Leonard’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “Then what do you call it? Courting?” he deadpans. “In a statement, Mr. Kirk says that you were waiting for him in his living room and when he told you to leave, that you just sat there. When he went to call the police you grabbed the cell phone and pushed him up against the wall. You then told him, ‘your illusions keep you safe. Enjoy these final moments of peace, James’ and then left.”

“I know what that sounds like, Agent McCoy,” John rationalizes.

Leonard tilts his head. “It sounds like you were threatening him,” he counters. “And three days later, Mr. Kirk was kidnapped from his home and tortured until he was able to escape.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

Pike clears his throat. “We have security footage of you on the ICU floor at UCSF Medical Center,” he adds quietly as he pulls the black and white photo out and moves it within John’s reach.

Leonard watches as John studies the photograph, his eyebrows rising in mild surprise. He pushes it back towards the agents and shrugs. “It seems you’ve caught me,” he replies offhandedly before his expression turns into a glare. “Visiting a _friend_.”

“His admittance into the hospital was _confidential_ , Mr. Harrison,” Leonard says as he leans closer to the other man. “Only hospital staff and agents assigned to his case were permitted to be near his room, so which makes me wonder _why_ you were there.”

John looks confused. “Assigned to his case?”

“Now is not the time to play coy, Mr. Harrison,” Leonard sneers. “How did you know he was there?”

“I’m not playing _coy_ ,” John declares sourly. “What on earth are you blabbering on about, Agent McCoy?”

Pike clears his throat. “Aside from assaulting a federal agent, Mr. Harrison, you are a suspect in the Kolinahr Killer case.”

“The Kolinahr Killer?” the other man echoes as he stares off into space before stifling back a fit of laughter. John smiles, his lips twisted, and cocks his head. “I am flattered, but I am not your killer. And besides, what does this have to do with James?”

Leonard frowns. “That is confidential.”

“Oh,” John sighs, his smile fading into an expression of concern. “James was one of his intended victims, wasn’t he?” His eyes shift between Leonard and Pike, studying and computing words unsaid. “James _escaped_ didn’t he, and you think that given our tremulous history that _I_ …oh this is hilarious!”

Pike rolls his shoulders. “We are not at liberty to say, Mr. Harrison.”

“If I was the Kolinahr Killer, I would do a much better job,” the man deadpans. He leans back in his chair, his handcuffs rattling against the table.

“A better job?” Leonard chokes. “At what?”

That serpentine leer is back and he staring at Leonard. “ _Everything_ ,” John replies. “And besides, I don’t want to reveal my sources.”

Leonard laughs mockingly in his face. “Sources?” he barks. “Is that what you call accomplices to stalking now?”

“I was merely checking up on James,” John retorts, his cheeks flushing at Leonard’s accusation. “I care about his wellbeing, regardless of what he thinks of me. James Tiberius Kirk is a lost soul—anyone can see that! He has _no one —_just his bank accounts, fraudulent friendships with those leeches who want a piece of him, his job, and his family’s shadow. _I_ could have shown him what it’s like to have someone _truly_ care for him!”

Leonard and Pike exchange a look before the former snorts. “You seem to know him better than anyone, don’t you?” When John doesn’t reply, Leonard stands up and walks over to the man’s side of the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. “It must be intense to know someone better than they know themselves.”

“You are mocking me, Agent McCoy,” John says quietly as he looks away. “I don’t appreciate it.”

Leonard tilts his head. “Then explain it to me, _John_.”

“You are a simpleton,” he replies in disdain. “You couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be with someone like James.”

Leonard leans in closer and gnashes his teeth together. “That _wasn’t_ a request.” He smirks when John looks at him, watching the man sulk in annoyance.

“James Kirk is a cerebral experience—not that someone like _you_ would know that,” John explains as he turns his attention to his handcuffed hands. “Anyone can see that he’s pleasing to look at, but there is so much more that goes on behind those pretty blue eyes.” John suddenly leans closer to Leonard and leers. “Don’t they remind you of the deep part of the ocean? And how they change from one shade to the next: robin’s egg, cerulean, sky blue…electric to navy to the color of slate. I bet _you_ would never notice something as fluid as that. Or how pink his lips are or what they look like when they’ve been kissed or bitten.” John smiles smugly. “They turn cherry red.”

Leonard feels his cheeks burning as he frowns. He knows all these things, though he doesn’t say a word about it. He’s seen the way Jim’s blue eyes change their shade—all dependent on his mood or a trick of light—and the myriad of colors they bleed into. Leonard’s pressed gentle and not so gentle kisses to those lips that darken under his tongue and teeth. But what has transpired between himself and Jim is private; something Leonard holds close to his heart, protecting it. “Something tells me that Mr. Kirk wouldn’t like you divulging personal details,” he states, feeling angry for Jim.

“You asked, Agent McCoy,” John simpers. He moves closer to Leonard, almost to the point of touching if he wasn’t handcuffed, and smiles. “You’ve never heard him moan like I have or beg for more. James is quite splendid at the latter, especially when he’s all laid out like a feast and on the verge of shattering to pieces.”

“Wanting to see someone break isn’t a show of affection, Mr. Harrison,” Leonard intones uncomfortably. He can understand when Jim said that John meant to consume him just by watching the man’s possessive nature over the younger man. He is thirsty for power, prestige, vanity, and to enthrall Jim without remorse over the damage John is doing to him. “It’s cruel.”

John shrugs. “Cruelty, like every other vice, requires no motive outside of itself; it only requires opportunity,” he says. “I have no motive to be cruel to James and while you may not believe me, I don’t want the opportunity to so.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, there is a knock on the door. It opens, revealing a man with a shrewd look to him and it makes John smile. “Ah, my lawyer is here. If you are done, I would like to leave now.”

Pike goes to unlock the handcuffs, giving John a moment to rub his wrists. “I suggest you don’t leave town, Mr. Harrison,” he says.

“My client doesn’t plan on it,” replies the lawyer. He leans down to whisper into John’s ear, to which the latter inclines his head in agreement. The lawyer pulls out his card and hands it to Pike. “Mr. Harrison will be cooperative with your investigation and if you should need to speak with him, call my office.”

Leonard and John stare at each other, the former with his hackles up and the latter as calm as the ocean before the storm. “Your client will also cease to contact Mr. Kirk in any way, shape, or form,” he states.

“Of course,” the lawyer says as he and his client go to leave.

Leonard frowns and follows John to the door, leaning in to speak into his ear. “If you come near Jim again, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you before I throw your ass behind bars,” he tells John, who just seems to smile at the threat.

“If you think James will be safe with iron between us,” John whispers as he leaves, “you’re wrong.”

 

* * *

 

Jim is sitting at his desk with Spock when Leonard is able to leave the interrogation room.

They seem to be deep in conversation because neither of notice his presence until his colleague glances up and arches one of his brows. “Leonard,” Spock greets. “Mr. Kirk and I were discussing the early methods of photography, particularly Louis Daguerre.”

“Were you now?” Leonard says distractedly.

“It is a fascinating topic,” Spock replies as he moves out of Leonard’s way. “How did the interview with Mr. Harrison go?”

Leonard pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes. “I don’t like him,” he tells Spock. He drops his hand and looks at his colleague. “Pike wants to see you. I’m going to get Jim out of here.”

“It has been a long day for the both of you,” Spock comments, though not unkindly. He turns to Jim and inclines his head. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim grins. “It’s just Jim,” he tells the agent.

“Jim,” Spock echoes quietly.

Leonard turns to him as Spock walks away in search of their boss. “Do you like sushi?” he asks whilst grabbing his jacket.

“Yeah,” Jim replies, leaning in with a teasing smirk. “Why? Are you going to take me out on a date, Bones?”

Leonard snorts back laughter. “I’ve had a crappy day and wasabi makes everything better, kid,” he deadpans. He leans in to whisper in Jim’s ear when he catches the crestfallen expression on the younger man’s face. “With the added bonus of your company.”

He takes Jim to a sushi place on Church Street and they sit at a table that’s tucked into the back corner of the restaurant. It feels nice to be out in public like they are a normal…whatever they are. “So,” Leonard says as he unfolds his napkin. “What do you usually talk about on a date?”

“The basics,” Jim replies with a grin. “So this _is_ a date, then?”

“I suppose. I haven’t been on one for years,” Leonard tells him as the waitress brings their large bottle of Asahi beer. She pours it into two glasses and leaves the bottle on the table. “Work gets hectic and my schedule isn’t the most ideal for dating.”

Jim is sipping his beer and nods in agreement. “I can understand that problem,” he commiserates. “If I’m not shooting on location, I’m running around the city for the various boards I’m on.”

“Boards?” Leonard questions. “Doesn’t photography keep you busy?”

Jim just grins. “I like variation.” They each drink some of their beer before Jim sets his glass down, pausing to look at Leonard. “What about you? Aside from work and myself, what else interests you?”

“Brat,” he huffs in jest. “I like collecting antique books _—_ usually medical textbooks _—_ and going to concerts around the city. Dinner with friends, hiking in Marin, and getting sleep when I can.” Leonard chuckles. “Other than that I’m pretty boring.”

Jim tilts his head and pouts. “You’re pretty far from boring, Bones,” he says.

“You’re _supposed_ to think that,” Leonard teases. “I’m trying to woo you, remember?”

Jim wrinkles his nose in amusement. “Consider me wooed.”

Their sushi, edamame, and gyoza arrive and they continue their conversation as they eat, both of them famished from the day’s events. Neither Leonard nor Jim mentions John Harrison as they laugh their way through dinner and by the time they are walking hand in hand back to Leonard’s apartment, the man is completely forgotten. It’s them walking under the fog covered San Francisco night, their bodies pressing closer and closer as they draw closer to the apartment’s front door.

“So what now?” Jim asks quietly as Leonard breaks their clasps hands to unlock the door.

Leonard stops flick his wrist to move the key in the lock and turns to look at Jim. The younger man’s tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. Leonard leans in to cup Jim’s chin with his thumb and index finger, rubbing the pad of the digit against Jim’s skin. It’s the only movement in this pregnant pause and it seems as if the universe has narrowed down to them standing in the hallway of Leonard’s building. He nips the line of Jim’s jaw, dragging his teeth over it. His intentions are clear as Leonard continues to manipulate his lips towards the other man’s neck and simultaneously unlock his front door.

They get inside and flip the lock into position as Jim’s hands begin unbuttoning Leonard’s shirt between heated kisses. They kick off their shoes, ignoring the thud they make when they hit the wall and bounce onto the floor. Leonard grabs onto the younger man’s hips and guides him back towards the bedroom, snaking his fingers up and under Jim’s t-shirt to feel warm skin underneath. He feels the ripple of Jim’s stomach muscles as they quiver under his touch. Leonard’s shirt falls open as Jim undoes the last button and pulls his undershirt out from his pants.

Leonard backs Jim onto the bed, controlling his fall as his knees buckle against the mattress. He pulls off the younger man’s shirt, then his own before straddling Jim’s hips. Both of them are breathing hard and Leonard realizes that they are going to have sex for the first time. He has Jim laid out under him, his skin flushing from his chest to his cheeks. Leonard leans over him and brings their lips together, groaning as Jim’s hands go to his belt buckle.

They fumble out of their clothing, carelessly tossing them onto the floor between heated kisses and caresses as they move up the bed. Leonard reaches down between Jim’s thighs and strokes his sack as he mouths his way down the younger man’s body. Jim arches against him as Leonard flicks a nipple with his tongue, groaning out his nickname.

“Bones,” Jim pleads. “Want you so bad…please!”

Leonard moves back to his mouth for a quick kiss before leaning towards the nightstand, pulling open a drawer in search of lube and a condom. Jim’s fingers are stroking the crest of hips, waiting patiently and when Leonard produces the sought out items, he sees the grin that grows on the younger man’s lips. He kisses him as he spreads Jim’s legs open. Leonard pours a decent amount of lube into his fingers and rubs it together as his hand travels between Jim’s cheeks, touching and teasing. It ignites a moan from Jim that he swallows down while deepening the kiss.

He is rubbing his fingers against Jim’s opening, feeling the ridges and puckered skin. Jim whines again, bucking his hips and cups the back of Leonard’s head. Leonard could listen to the debauched sounds he’s making all night long, but something tells him that Jim would probably not appreciate the teasing for longer than necessary. He wets the younger man’s hole with the lube before sinking the tip of his finger inside the tight heat.

At that moment Jim breaks the kiss and pants. “Fuck Bones,” he gasps, clutching his shoulder. “More…”

“I don’t want to go too fast, kid,” Leonard whispers against Jim’s neck, his tongue flicking out and licking skin as Jim rocks against his body. His finger goes in, up to the first knuckle, and Jim’s muscles contract around him. “But I’ve got to admit I love seeing you like this.”

Jim makes an incoherent sound as Leonard works his finger inside of him, gently stretching the tight ring of muscle until it’s too loose. “Oh god Bones,” Jim moans as Leonard sinks two fingers into him.

“God you’re gorgeous,” Leonard whispers, daring to look up and see Jim on the verge. He’s seen him like this before, but _this_ is more intense and filled with reckless abandon. “So fucking perfect.” Leonard nips at Jim’s lower lip and continues whispering filthy into his ear as two fingers become three. He tells him what he wants to do to him, how much he wants to be inside him and feel him under his body. “Fuck Jim…”

He takes the condom out of Jim’s hand and tears open the wrapper with his teeth. Jim grabs it back and rolls it down Leonard’s erection as Leonard withdraws his fingers from between Jim’s cheeks. “Don’t hold out on me, Bones,” Jim quips as Leonard covers the latex with lube.

Leonard grabs him by the hips and wraps Jim’s legs around his waist. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he growls as he guides himself towards the younger man’s ass.

They crash together with lips and body as Leonard sinks himself into Jim, both of them moaning loudly. The younger man bucks his hips, urging the agent on. And it’s so damn wonderful that Leonard is certain that neither of them will last long. It’s like the tension between them has built up over days rather than a few short hours.

He fucks into Jim with slow and deep thrusts while murmuring against his collarbone. “So tight,” Leonard moans as he drives himself further and further. “Fuck you feel good, darlin’. Just like I thought you would.”

“Bones,” Jim gasps as Leonard grazes his prostate. His movements falter and he digs his fingers into the meat of Leonard’s shoulder. He can only imagine the look on Jim’s face. “Oh fuck, oh god…”

The world dissolves to them moving against each other in Leonard’s bed. He hikes one of Jim’s legs up and changes the angle and depth of his thrusts as Leonard capture’s the younger man’s mouth with his. His hips have a mind of their own, giving into the want and need by going faster and harder. He can hear the thwack of their skin rubbing against each other and the sound of heavy breathing.

Jim arches up, brushing his hand against Leonard’s stomach as it travels down to stroke his cock caught between both of their bodies. His breath hitches at the sensation of Leonard moving inside of him along with his fisted cock. “Bones,” he pants, unable to finish his sentence.

“I want to hear you, darlin’,” Leonard groans, sounding desperate as his orgasm draws closer. “Want to know how good I make you feel.”

Jim swallows roughly. “Oh god,” he moans as his hand works himself a bit faster. His body is trembling from the inside out under Leonard as the sounds he makes comes faster and faster. He briefly goes unusually silent before he breaks into fragments, crying out for Leonard as he spills between them.

Leonard fucks him through his orgasm until Jim is pliant and shaking in his arms; only then he lets go and thrusts once, twice and climaxing into his still quivering hole. He chokes out the only word that’s aptly wrapped itself around his tongue. “ _Jim_.”

 

* * *

 

Jim is tucked into Leonard’s arms sometime later, both of them dozing while Leonard idly strokes his thumb against his skin. 

He feels sated in the best way while he watches his hand pressed against the throb of Leonard’s heart moves up and down with the other man’s inhale and exhales. The room is quiet other than the sound of their breathing and the rustle of bedding when one of them moves. He’s never experienced this sort of ease in previous relationships. They always felt like work and that Jim had to always be at his best; with Leonard, it’s vastly different. The other man has seen him at his worst and most vulnerable without batting an eye. “Bones,” he whispers as his fingers brush pets the hair on Leonard’s sternum.

“Mhmm?” Leonard murmurs with his eyes still closed, though one of his brows arches.

Jim scrapes his cheek against the agent’s bare chest. “I would like to keep seeing you after the investigation is over,” he says quietly. “If that’s okay with you…”

Leonard shifts and gracefully rolls Jim onto his back, hovering over him as his fingers trace Jim’s chest. He has a sleepy grin on his lips as Leonard nods. “I would like that, darlin’,” he tells Jim as he leans down to kiss him.

It’s the exact reply Jim was hoping to get.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim wakes to Leonard’s lips trailing up his spine with soft pecks and the quick bite of teeth that is soothed by the wet slip of his tongue.

He smiles, arching into the agent with a yawn whose hands skate up and over Jim’s hips. He sucks in a breath and shivers. “Morning,” he croaks as Leonard continues touching him with his mouth and hands.

“Morning darlin’,” Leonard whispers in his ear as his erection slots itself between Jim’s cheeks. He moves his hips, making his intentions known, and tugs on Jim’s earlobe.

He pushes back with a whimper. “Bones,” Jim gasps, fisting the sheets and closing his eyes. The flared head of Leonard’s cock nudges itself against his entrance; blunt, slick, and sealed with a condom. “What are you waiting for?”

“Dunno,” Leonard teases as he pushes into Jim, who is still loose from the night before. They both moan at the sensation and the agent drops his forehead in between Jim’s shoulders. “Darlin’…” he groans, his voice sending a tremor down Jim’s spine. “The things you do to me.”

Jim turns his head just enough to catch Leonard’s lips against his own. The angle is as awkward, a strange juxtaposition next to the precise movements of the agent’s hips. He whispers a litany of ‘don’t stop’ over and over as Leonard fucks him, his mouth panting hotly against Jim’s neck and his cock giving his prostate a sweet battering. He ends up climaxing with a surprised cry as his untouched length spills semen onto the sheets. Jim hears Leonard’s clipped moan as his body shudders above him, and then feels his weight as he goes limp and breathes heavily against his shoulder. After a few moments, Leonard gently pulls out of him and disposes of the used condom.

“I could get used to this,” Jim says as he rolls over to face Leonard. His dark hair is rumpled and full of cowlicks. “Morning sex with a handsome man.”

Leonard grins. “Who also cooks,” he adds as he leans down to kiss him.

“And makes really good waffles,” Jim mumbles against Leonard’s lips as they continue to make out. “Amazing kisser.”

He hears Leonard chuckle. “Keep talking, kid,” he urges as his lips end up pressed against other places on Jim’s body.

The thing is he _does_ keep talking. Jim tells Leonard about the attributes he most admires; some of it innocent, but most of it filthy as those lips go lower and lower. He ends up pulling the agent back up to devour his mouth as they rut against each other. Leonard grabs another condom and the lube while Jim straddles his thighs, watching as he tears the foil, rolling the latex down his length. Jim allows himself to be pulled by the hips, chuckling as their bodies rub against each other and Leonard’s cock nudges at his opening.

The agent reaches for him with a feral expression on his face while they kiss as Jim sinks down onto Leonard with a satisfied sigh. He relishes the stretch and pleasurable burn of the other man’s cock before Jim starts slowly riding him. Leonard clasps the back of his neck, keeping Jim within kissing distance and murmuring endearments as the younger man rolls his hips.

“Bones,” Jim gasps as he goes faster, his hands planted against the agent’s broad, freckled shoulders. He wants to spend hours licking and sucking on the darkened skin, tasting and feeling Leonard’s warmth. Jim’s rhythm stutters as the other man’s hands move towards his backside, cupping his ass and driving Leonard deeper inside of him. “ _Bones_.”

He can feel Leonard gripping and spreading his cheeks, which only heightens the sensation of fucking him. Jim clenches around the agent with a low groan. His orgasm coils and warms his gut, spreading through his body like a wave. This time it doesn’t catch him off guard, especially when Leonard wraps one of his hands around Jim’s erection and strokes him to completion. As Jim is trying to catch his breath, Leonard moans into his chest and cums.

They end up basking in the afterglow for another hour before both of their stomachs start to gurgle. Leonard’s index finger is tracing a line from Jim’s navel to his collarbone when it happens, causing both of them to laugh.

“Say,” Leonard whispers. “What do you think of breakfast with the rest of the world?”

Jim looks over Leonard’s shoulder and sees that it’s only nine in the morning. “It’s early enough that there won’t be a line at Ella’s,” he suggests.

“Sounds good, darlin’,” Leonard agrees as he pulls Jim in for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

Leonard is surprised that he and Jim are able to pull themselves out of bed as they sit across from each other at the restaurant.

As much as he wouldn’t mind spending the day in bed with Jim, they both need to get out of the apartment. Especially since Jim is in need of more clothes. He steals a glance at him, admiring the way his shirt looks on Jim, before returning to the menu Leonard’s holding. “The wash and fold place will have your things ready by tomorrow afternoon,” he tells Jim.

“I guess I could stay naked until then,” the younger man quips, wagging his brows mischievously.

Leonard rolls his eyes. “Infant,” he mutters as the waitress comes over to take their orders. He can feel Jim beaming from across the table and if Leonard is being honest, having him lying around his apartment naked wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

“After this, could we head over to my condo?” Jim asks as he folds a napkin in his lap. “There are a few things I wanted to pick up.”

Leonard smirks. “No need to explain it to me, kid,” he says with a chuckle. “Though that shirt _does_ look good on you.”

“Maybe I’ll need to steal it,” Jim chirps as he touches the crimson fabric. He laughs at the scowl that appears on Leonard’s face, the edges of his eyes creasing into laugh lines.

“You are something else, kid,” Leonard grouses as he leans back in his seat, watching Jim’s laughter tampers down to giggles and the younger man wiping tears from his eyes. The waitress comes back with their drinks; coffee for Leonard and orange juice for Jim. “You don’t drink coffee?” he inquires while reaching for the cream.

As soon as the words come out of his mouth, he realizes that the entire time Jim has been in his apartment that he has not consumed any other beverage aside from water, tea, and orange juice. Jim arches a brow. “Can you imagine me on coffee?” he counters. “I would be bouncing off walls!”

“True,” Leonard responds, earning a snort of disgust from Jim that makes him chuckle. He sips his coffee and glances up at the younger man, who is staring at him. “But I’m sure it would be precious, darlin’.”

Jim shakes his head. “I’m anything, _but_ adorable, Bones,” he replies with a smirk.

Leonard watches Jim as he drinks his orange juice, his eyes darting from left to right over the rim of the glass. Anyone else would think he was merely people watching, but Leonard recognizes the faint spark of anxiety; the wondering, the what-ifs, the waiting. They seem to haunt Jim at various points of his day, but mostly when the younger man is at ease and he remembers what happened to him for the briefest moment. It makes Leonard want to find the Kolinahr all the more.

He reaches across the table again to gently clasp Jim’s wrist. Leonard brushes the pad of his thumb over the joint, feeling soft skin. “I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” he says quietly, moving his hand from Jim’s wrist to his fingers.

Jim sets the glass down as he lowers his head so that Leonard can only see the thin skin of his eyelids and span of dark lashes. “I feel like he’s everywhere,” the younger man mutters without looking up. His hand flexes; his fingers locking in between Leonard’s. “And nowhere at the same time.”

It’s survivor’s guilt talking. The thing that goes bump in the night and keeps someone awake until the sun creeps over the horizon. That shadow who lurks around the corner or over one’s shoulder. The ghostly presence that’s palpable even hundreds of miles away. Jim sighs, breaking the silence as the waitress comes over with their meals. She sets it down with a cheery smile and asks them if they need anything else, which they don’t. Jim pokes at his pancakes with a frown after she walks away to attend to other tables.

“What is it?” Leonard asks.

“I should have had them put chocolate chips in,” Jim grouses before digging in, to which Leonard barks out a fit of laughter.

The mood seems to lighten over the course of their late breakfast. The restaurant fills up with the brunch crowd that the city is known for just as he and Jim are paying the bill up front. Leonard is about to put down his credit card when the younger man beats him to it, waving off his insistence with a dismissive gesture.

“You paid for dinner, Bones,” Jim argues as he signs the receipt and hands it to the person up front. He turns to Leonard and smiles. “Consider this our second date.”

He rolls his eyes and relents, sliding an arm over Jim’s shoulders as they walk out onto the sidewalk. It’s a rare sunny day in Presidio Heights and the air is crisp from the bodies of water that surround the city. “Want to take a walk?” Leonard asks.

“Sure,” Jim agrees as he slips on his jacket. “Where to?”

Leonard shrugs. “Let’s just walk,” he says, taking Jim’s hand in his own and leading him down Presidio Avenue.

One of the many things that Leonard loved about moving to San Francisco (aside from it being on the opposite side of the country from Georgia), it was built to be a walking city. The hills were tedious, but the paths that led to them were breathtaking. During his first six months, Leonard spent his free time walking the neighborhoods that surrounded his own and even dared to go down Market until he hit the Embarcadero before finding himself at Fort Mason or near the Golden Gate Bridge. Perhaps it was his way of coping with the turmoil that ached under his skin and allowed him to sort through it without his Agency mandated therapist asking him questions.

That was just over a decade ago. Leonard finds himself still trying to reconcile with the man who helped raise him with his mama and the killer who he gunned down in the orchard behind his childhood home. Walking clears his head, gives him the perspective he’d otherwise find on a therapist’s couch.

They are just crossing into Cow Hollow when Jim pipes up, breaking the silence between them. “Have you gone back to Georgia at all?” he asks, tightening his fingers around Leonard’s.

“No,” Leonard replies with a shake of his head. “I sold the house as soon as I could and left. That was ‘bout ten years ago.”

He catches Jim looking at him, the sun lighting his eyes into a kaleidoscope of blue. “That’s a long time to be away from home,” he comments. “Do you miss it?”

“I miss the good memories,” Leonard tells him. “I miss my mama’s peach cobbler and Thanksgiving dinners at my aunt and uncle’s. And Christmas morning.”

Jim stops them in the middle of the sidewalk, at the cross of Scott and Green. It’s early enough that they are the only ones on the street with a stray pedestrian here and there. The sun is still out, though the marine layer is looming as it crawls across the Golden Gate Strait. It illuminates Jim’s hair like a halo and brings out the color of his eyes. “But?”

“I don’t want to face the bad ones,” Leonard admits. The words may come out with as stoic and uncaring, but he can taste the bitterness in his mouth.

Jim’s lips twitch into a lopsided frown. “They overrun the good ones, don’t they?” It’s not really a question, more like an observation that cuts like a dull knife.

“You’d think five and a half years of therapy would make it easier to deal with,” Leonard says flatly.

“Nothing really makes it easier,” Jim replies with a shrug. “Unless if you numb it, but that never works. You feel it eventually.”

Leonard shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket and tilts his head. “Who’s daddy issues are we talking about now?” he jokes, earning a smirk from the other man.

“Both of ours,” Jim says with a hint of uncertainty. “I know how it feels to carry a burden that was never yours to begin with. At least you remember your father.”

“I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing, darlin’.”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than having people stare at you like you’re a ghost,” he counters softly. Jim turns his head and the sun brings out his profile. “My own mom couldn’t even look at me after a while - she practically ignored me after I turned fourteen and if she was ever in San Francisco, she would talk to me through Frank.”

Leonard remembers the conversations he and his father would have about his future; medical school, which colleges he would apply to, his SAT scores, where he would practice. They would go back and forth, a flux of laughter and deep discussions. When they couldn’t speak anymore, his father would pat him on the back with a proud smile and say, “I’m proud of you, Len.” He may not have known what kind of man his father truly was, but at least he had those memories.

“And when she got sick—real sick—mom kept thinking I was my dad,” Jim tells him, his voice cracking. Tears reflect in his eyes as he bites his lower lip to keep it from quivering. “At first I would tell her who I was, but once it got close to the end, I just played along. It was the only time I felt like she really loved me.”

He steps forward and cups the right side of Jim’s face, where there are two half-moon scabs over his eye. Leonard does the same with the left side and brushes away the tears that fall down the younger man’s cheeks with his thumbs. Then he kisses him. When they reluctantly pull away to breathe, Leonard chuckles, “The two of us are head cases.” Jim snorts back a giggle and leans into his body, burying his head into the agent’s chest with a sigh. Leonard smiles as his arms go to hold Jim and kiss him on the temple. “You know what we need?”

“No,” Jim says. “What do we need?”

“Beer.”

 

* * *

 

Jim finds himself ensconced in a booth at Shanghai Kelly’s while Leonard is ordering them drinks at the bar.

The saloon is fairly quiet, not exactly unexpected since it’s only half past three in the afternoon. There are only a few other patrons, most of them transfixed by the sports broadcast on the televisions to pay much attention to him.

“Only the IPAs looked appealing,” Leonard drawls as he sets down two glasses of beer. He sides in next to Jim, their legs bumping as the agent settles in his seat. “Just don’t mention this to Geoff.”

Jim raises a curious brow as he drinks his first sip of beer. “Why?” he asks once he’s swallowed.

“He’ll go on about how you’re still healing and all that shit doctors like to spout,” the agent grouses. He takes a big gulp from his own glass and shrugs. “I’m glad I didn’t become one.”

“You never told me why you dropped out of medical school,” Jim probes with a smirk.

Leonard returns the smirk with one of his own. “You never asked.”

“Well, now I’m asking, Bones.”

He watches that slow smile crawl across Leonard’s full lips and how it brings out his dimples, which are hidden he laughs or is smiling like now. Jim idly thinks that he’d like to take the agent’s photograph one of these days; a color one for obvious reasons because his eyes are so mesmerizing. And the color of his lips, which are pursed together as Leonard sits deep in thought. “Well?” Jim implores, nudging him with his elbow.

“I appreciate the science of medicine,” Leonard starts. He is running his fingers up and down the glass, wiping away the condensation. “But when it really came down to it, it wasn’t something I was interested in. Medicine is like a puzzle; just not the one I wanted to figure out.”

Jim nods. “What did your parents think about it?”

“Well, mama was always proud of me,” he says with a rueful grin on his face. “And dad…I’m not sure what he really thought of it, to be honest.”

Jim drinks his beer and leans against the table. “So you went right into the Farm?”

“No, no,” Leonard replies, shaking his head. “I got my masters in Sociology at the University of Mississippi before being recruited by Pike. He heard about me from his colleague, Philip Boyce. I did a summer of field research in Bolivia with him and I suppose he was impressed.”

“Then what?”

Leonard shrugs and Jim immediately knows he’s going to wax over his accomplishments like they aren’t anything special. “Then I went to the Farm and was recruited to be on Pike’s team for the Atlanta Ripper case,” he pauses to drink. “And the rest is history.”

“So they say,” Jim adds quietly. They clink their glasses together and then drink, each of them finishing the remaining beer. As he sets the glass down, Leonard leans in to kiss him; tasting of beer and something that is wholly derived from the agent. Jim finds himself gladly sinking against the brush of velvet soft lips.

He wants more. He _always_ wants more of Leonard, who pulls back and nuzzles the tips of their noses together with a lazy grin. “Another round, darlin’?”

 

* * *

 

Several hours later Jim is unlocking the front door to his condo as Leonard’s hand cradles the small of his back.

His body thrums with nerves as the key turns in the lock. He thought that the beers would relax him or even Leonard’s calming presence, but it does nothing to quell the panic that surges as the door creaks open.

“Hey,” Leonard says as his fingers move from his back to cup his elbow. “I’m right here.”

Jim only nods, not trusting himself to speak. The light from the hallway shines into his entryway and illuminates familiar belongings: his bicycle, the breakfront, family photographs. He peers inside, hesitant to move further. He hears Leonard sigh and the feeling of his body moving past him as he goes to turn on the lights. Jim swallows as the agent stands inside of his home. “Maybe I should consider selling it,” he comments as he takes a tentative step inside as if he is balancing on a tightrope.

“You could always stay with me, darlin’,” Leonard says with a grin as he shuts the door behind them and takes Jim by the hand.

“I could,” Jim replies, as he looks around distractedly. Everything from that night is coming back to him in flashes: how he trudged wearily into his condo from the gala and dumped his jacket and tie into a pile, his automatic footsteps he took to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink, the stillness of the room…

Leonard touches his chin to face him. “He’s not here,” he states. “It’s just you and me.” He gives Jim a sympathetic look when he nods quickly and smooths down his hair. “Let’s make this quick and get you out of here.”

They go towards the bedroom when Jim swears he hears a noise. It’s gone as quickly as it came and he chalks it up to paranoia, plus the soothing warmth of Leonard’s hand wrapped around his makes him feel less scared of being there. This condo used to be his home and now it’s just a remnant of a nightmare.

“Do you have a duffle bag or something we could use to bring over your stuff?” Leonard asks over the sound that comes once again. He turns to Jim with a dark look on his face. “Did you hear that?”

Jim nods, feeling panic turning his body into ice. “I heard it before,” he explains in a stammering voice. “I thought I was being…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. It dissolves into a shout of warning as a figure comes out of his bedroom with a bat. The object slams into Leonard’s head, clipping him at his temple and sending him into a heap on the ground. Bits of plaster break off onto his prone body and the trail of blood oozing out of his scalp. Jim staggers backward and falls as the bat angles for him or his throat more accurately. He finds himself pressed up against the wall with cold metal cutting off his oxygen and John Harrison’s even colder eyes penetrating through him.

“I _knew_ it,” John growls as he pushes down harder. “You _and_ him! I knew it without you saying a single word, Jim. Did you ever wonder how that would make me feel? How angry I would be?”

He coughs as his hands grab the bat, trying to push John off him. Perhaps it’s the terror he’s feeling or the beers he shared with Leonard, but the deranged man’s strength seems superhuman. Jim’s lungs are seizing for oxygen and there are black spots clouding his vision. His eyes wander to Leonard, who is still lying on the floor, unmoving.

“Don’t worry about him,” John assures darkly. “He’s next.”

A surge of rage suddenly burns hotly in his gut and Jim’s leg kicks out, hitting John in the groin. The man doubles over his knee, which flies upward into his stomach. Jim dives over John, rushing for the bat that’s rolled into his bedroom. Just as his fingers graze the handle, the other man grabs him by the ankle and pulls him away. Jim kicks his hand repeatedly, making sure that the soles of his shoes rub John’s skin raw. They are slinging curses at each other and growling as each man scrambles for the bat.

One of those hands knocks it under Jim’s bed and he can hear it rolling against the hardwood floors. Jim manages to get to his feet at the same time as John, both of them looking for a new weapon. He dashes to his dresser, grabbing the letter opener that Gaila brought back from a trip to India.

“No one else,” John growls from behind him.

Jim holds up the carved sterling silver object at chest level just as John lunges forward. Absently, he’s surprised how easily the letter opener sinks into John’s chest and how warm freshly spilled blood feels against his skin. He looks up at John, whose features are registering shock as he backs away from Jim, stumbling over his own feet.

He keeps stumbling, passing the bed and going towards the window. “John!” Jim calls out as the man waivers before crashing through the glass and falling onto the street below. He rushes towards the window, ignoring the cold air that blows into his condo, and dares to peer down. Jim chokes out a gasp as he finds himself staring at John’s broken body on the pavement. He can see the cracks on the sidewalk from the impact and suddenly feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Jim?” calls a dazed voice. When he turns, Jim sees Leonard staggering into the room as he rubs his head. The agent sees the broken window and rushes towards him, taking in the blood on Jim’s shirt and hands. “Are you hurt?” Leonard glances out the window and suddenly his arms are around him more tightly. “Oh god.”

All Jim can seem to do is melt into the agent’s warmth and close his eyes. “He fell,” he whispers against Leonard’s chest. “He fell.”

 

* * *

 

He is sitting in the living room, nursing a cup of water that Chekov brought him in a coffee mug.

Jim swallows it gingerly since his throat aches something awful. One of the medics has already checked him and Leonard over; they’ll both be sore for a few days, but nothing serious beyond that. He wants to leave and go back to the comfort of Leonard’s apartment just to be away from the madness.

Leonard stands near the hallway that leads toward the bedroom, speaking with Pike and Spock in low voices. Occasionally, he’ll look over at Jim and give him a reassuring smile before turning away. As quickly as it makes Jim’s insides warm up with comfort, it turns cold. He killed a man. It was self-defense, but he still killed someone even if he only meant to incapacitate John.

“How about I make you some tea when we get back to Leonard’s apartment?” Nyota suggests out of nowhere. She sits down next to him on the couch, folding her arms over her thighs as she leans forward.

Jim shakes his head. “I don’t think I can really stomach anything right now,” he admits.

“Can’t blame you there,” she says as she taps his knee. “He was going to kill you both, Jim. It was self-defense.”

He swallows down nausea roiling in his stomach, slowly making its way to his throat. “I stabbed him,” Jim intones as he looks down at the mug in his hands.

“Still self-defense,” Nyota tells him.

Jim shrugs, not convinced. “When can we leave?” he asks.

“I’ll ask the boss,” she says as she gets up. “Hang tight.”

He watches her go over to the cluster of agents and politely inserts herself into the conversation. Nyota gestures towards him and the four of them turn. Leonard is about to speak when Pike beats him to the punch and says something that makes him nod.

Leonard breaks away from them and walks towards him, motioning Jim to follow. He stands up, setting the mug on the coffee table, and trails behind the agent as they go into the kitchen. As soon they are alone, Leonard pulls Jim to him and kisses him gently on the forehead, followed by the cheek, and finally his lips. They linger for a moment. “Hey,” he whispers when they part. He cards his fingers through Jim’s hair and kisses his brow. “Chris is going to drop you and Nyota off at my apartment while I finish up here.”

“Why can’t you come with us?” Jim asks, knowing how pathetic he sounds.

Leonard sighs and pulls him closer. “I wish I could,” he says. “Scotty is on his way over and he says it’s urgent, but as soon as that’s done, I’m all yours. It will only take an hour tops, okay?”

“Okay,” Jim mumbles. He presses his face into the curve of Leonard’s neck and inhales deeply before pulling away to look the agent in the eye. The man makes his heart beat just a bit faster and his cheeks flush as they stare at each other. “Leonard, I think I’m falling in…”

Leonard’s mouth drops open when they hear two sets of footsteps approaching the kitchen and break apart just in time for Pike and Nyota to come around the corner. The former is twirling his keychain around his finger and flashes Jim a friendly smile before asking, “Ready to get out of here?”

He nods and allows Leonard to follow them to his front door, desperately wanting to turn around and finish what he was about to tell him. _I think I’m falling in love with you_ , Jim thinks as he looks at Leonard once more before they go downstairs to Pike’s car. Jim settles into the backseat, barely listening to Nyota and Pike as they chat idly. Pike starts the engine and soon,  they’re pulling out onto the street and head down to Columbus. Once he gets back inside Leonard’s apartment, Jim wants to take a shower and ease the weariness away with the hottest water he can handle.

“How are you holding up?” Nyota asks as she turns her head towards him. Headlights illuminate her profile. 

He shrugs. “I just want to lie down,” Jim confesses as he relaxes in the seat. “And forget that tonight ever happened.”

The car goes quiet as they head in the direction of Noe Valley. Traffic isn’t awful—it’s nearly eight at night, after all—and it will be a quick trip across town. Jim closes his eyes and exhales, feeling the last of his nerves leave his body.

“Could I get a sip of your water?” Nyota asks.

The signal clicks, indicating that Pike is about to make a turn. “Go ahead,” he says as Jim opens his eyes. He sees Nyota leaning over to grab the plastic bottle and uncap it. A car’s headlight flashes inside, showing Pike’s blue eyes in the rearview as he glances at Jim. “What’s yours is mine.”

He pictures letters written in neat blood red script and orchids in a vase. Jim’s heart starts to hammer against his chest as Pike’s expression darkens and his body shifts. He lunges towards the other agent on instinct, his body going into panic mode. “Nyota!” Jim yells just as a single gunshot goes off inside of the car. Something warm and wet splatters against his cheek as the tang of gunpowder fills his nostrils.

Stars appear in his vision as Pike’s gun slams into his temple, bright like a supernova or the sun rising up over the desert in Egypt. The force of the blow knocks Jim back into the seat with a groan while the other man starts to whistle softly.

The sound follows Jim into the darkness that awaits him.


	9. Chapter 9

Perhaps it’s the latter portion of the day’s events that causes Leonard’s hackles to be up at every sound and motion that is made in Jim’s apartment, but he’s been on edge ever since his lover departed.

He would have preferred to go with them, but Spock needs him here to answer more questions about the attack so they can obtain a warrant for John Harrison’s property. Plus Scotty is on his way over. Normally he would have told Leonard the information over the phone without hesitation. He had a tremor in his voice that was so unusual for the steadfast Scotsman that when Scotty asked to come to the scene, Leonard could only agree.

He’s still reeling from Jim’s near-confession in the kitchen. Leonard knows what he was going to say before they were interrupted and had felt his heart speed up as the words came from Jim’s lips. A similar expression pushes up into his throat while his mind—with all its logic—says it’s too soon to feel this way. Except he does despite everything and the foreignness of it all.

“It appears that Mr. Harrison broke into the condo through the fire escape that connects to Mr. Kirk’s kitchen,” Spock says.

Leonard nods, trying in vain to pay attention. All he can think about is Jim, his aborted admission, and the ache in his head from where John hit him with the baseball bat. He’s lucky it only grazed him, despite the blow knocking him out cold. It could have been worse, he realizes as he half listens to Spock. Leonard could have easily woken up in the hospital or not at all. The thought makes him shiver.

“Are you alright, Leonard?” Spock inquires. He arches one of his brows and purses his lips together. “Should I call back the medics?”

“I’m fine,” he replies gruffly.

“We may continue this discussion later if you prefer,” Spock insists.

Leonard shakes his head. He wants to do this later more than anything else so he can be back at his apartment with Jim. He saw the guilt all over the younger man’s face when they were in the kitchen; the same guilt Leonard experienced when he had to pull the trigger on his own father. “I have to wait for Scotty to get here,” he replies.

They continue their conversation until he hears Scotty entering the apartment. The man is brilliant but as quiet as a bull in a china shop. He is speaking with Hendorff at the front door, his voice carrying all the way into the bedroom, before the sound of approaching footsteps comes towards Leonard and Spock. Scotty appears in the doorway, looking flustered and out of breath. “Traffic was a bleedin’ nightmare!” he gasps as he hurries to Leonard’s side with his iPad in hand. “I got the results of the tissue under the lad’s fingernails. Sorry it took forever; bastard was in deep into our system.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Leonard tells him as he looks at the data that is already pulled up on the screen. Spock is glancing over his shoulder and silently looking over the information on the screen.

Scotty makes a disgruntled sound. “Then you probably won’t like who the match is,” he says. “Because it _isn’t_ Harrison.”

Leonard and Spock look up at him, both of them wearing the same shocked expression. “Are you certain?” Spock asks as he takes the iPad out of Leonard’s hands.

“I ran the test _three times_ to confirm it against Harrison’s DNA that was taken at the offices,” Scotty replies, shaking his head. “It’s not him.”

“Do you know who it is?” Leonard questions.

Scotty nods. “This is the part you’re not going to like,” he tells them as he grabs the device and starts flipping through information. “I ran the search using all of the DNA the FBI has in its database; extending it to everything outside of our normal parameters. A match came back this afternoon while I was at lunch.” He pulls up the file and taps the screen.

An agency identification photograph flashes on the screen, one he’s seen so often that it’s ingrained into his mind: the greying brown hair, blue eyes, and weathered skin. Leonard feels the air exit his lungs as Spock announces, “That’s Captain Pike.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Scotty replies as Spock starts to protest. “I ran the DNA sample against the one that he gave the agency and it matches down to the last coil.” He swipes the screen, pulling up Pike’s personnel file. “He has property near the Presidio; a storage unit about two miles from where Kirk was found.”

Leonard’s gut clenches as he thinks of Jim. “Shit,” he curses as he grabs his cell phone and dials Jim’s number. The line rings a few times before going straight to a standard voicemail greeting. “He didn’t pick up,” Leonard announces as he dials the number once more. “Spock, call Nyota.”

“Before you lose your bloody mind,” Scotty bark as both men are their phones. “I installed a GPS tracking system into Kirk’s phone.”

Leonard hangs up as he hears Jim’s voicemail in his ear and raises a brow. “You _what_?”

“I installed a tracking system into his phone while I was bugging it,” Scotty repeats as Spock hangs up, shaking his head. He makes a face at Leonard. “You’re lookin’ at me like I’m mad, but in retrospect, it was a brilliant idea!”

Leonard exchanges a glance with Spock and then shakes his head. “Pull up the GPS,” he commands.

“It’s right here,” Scotty says as the program pops up. It takes a few moments, but soon a blinking green spot appears on the iPad.

“Where is that?” Spock asks.

Leonard tilts his head, trying to get a better look. His heart plummets when he doesn’t recognize the area, knowing that Jim is not safe in his apartment. “Bayview?”

“Nah,” Scotty responds. “It looks like he’s heading towards Hunter’s Point Shipyard.”

Leonard palms his face. “Who’s still here from the team?” he asks Spock as they start walking out of the apartment.

“Hendorff, Sulu, and Chekov,” Spock replies.

Scotty pipes in, “Don’t forget about me!”

“And Mr. Scott,” Spock adds dourly.

He stops in the hallway leading to the front door where Hendorff is speaking with Sulu and Chekov. Leonard motions them over. “Do any of you have an extra piece?” he asks in a low voice.

“I do, boss,” Hendorff replies. “It’s in my car.”

Leonard nods. “Scotty, go with Hendorff,” he says before turning to Sulu and Chekov. “Do you two have a car?”

“We came over with Pike,” Chekov tells him.

He huffs out a sigh and thinks that of course, they did. “Chekov ride with Hendorff and Sulu, you’re with us,” Leonard decides as they start heading down to the street. “Scotty will explain what is going on and you’ll follow us.”

“Should we put in a call to Archer?” Spock inquires as they step into the foggy San Francisco night.

Leonard spies Hendorff running towards his car to retrieve his extra firearm, silently cursing himself for leaving his back at the apartment. “First we need back up to meet us at the location,” Leonard tells him. “No sirens. We go in stealth; we have no idea how his mental state is and I don’t want Jim getting injured.”

“Mind telling us what’s going on?” Sulu grouses as Hendorff comes back with his gun and hands it over to Leonard.

He examines the gun and checks a number of bullets. “We found the Kolinahr,” Leonard replies.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he notices the taste of blood in his mouth and the throbbing of his tongue. 

Jim wonders if he bit it while he was asleep just as pain radiates from his temple. It’s the type of pain that feels like being stabbed between the eyes and causes nausea to surge in his stomach. His mind is foggy and fractured and slow to respond to Jim’s desire to rub his head. It takes a moment, but eventually, Jim realizes that he can’t move. He opens his eyes and finds himself staring up at a warehouse ceiling. His wrists and ankles are bound to four hooks that are pressed into the dirty ground, forcing his limbs to spread against his will.

Jim swallows back the bile in his throat as he glances around, wondering if he’s having a nightmare.

“Welcome back,” Pike greets from beyond Jim’s field of vision. He hears the sound of metal moving against a hard surface and the San Francisco Bay crashing against the shore. “I was wondering if I would have to start without you.”

Jim tugs at one of his restraints and winces as the rope dig into his skin. _Like a knife_ , he thinks deliriously. He inhales and exhales, trying to calm himself before speaking. “Where’s Nyota?” Jim finally asks.

“She’s dead,” Pike replies. He is walking towards him, his shoes clicking on the ground. Jim can’t tell which direction the agent is coming from and strains to find him. “Don’t you remember, Jim?” he asks from above Jim’s head, startling him. This seems to amuse Pike and he chuckles quietly. “Her blood is on your face.”

He spies the tray in Pike’s hands and swallows. “Why?” Jim inquires as his eyes follow him as the agent pulls up a stand.

“Why what?” the older man counters as he sets the tray on the stand. He pulls out a pair of black latex gloves and inserts his hands into them. “Why did I kill Nyota? Why are you here? Why am I doing this? You’re going to need to be a little more specific, Jim.”

Terror seizes in his throat as the sensation of tacky dried blood flakes off his skin. _Nyota_ , Jim mournfully recalls as he turns away from Pike.

He remembers the car ride and how quick the agent had been to shoot her before knocking Jim unconscious. “All of it,” he says quietly as tears burn his eyes.

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,” Pike agrees as he continues his ministrations. “Besides, we have some time while I finish setting up here.” The words make Jim want to vomit and it’s probably intentional on the agent’s part. “Why did I kill Nyota? The answer is simple; she was in the way. It’s a shame because she had so much potential to go far within the agency.”

Jim sees the reflection of one of Pike’s tools hit the dirt covered ground and swallows back a whimper. He can’t control his tears that start to seep down his cheeks. “Why am I here?” he asks. “You could have left me alone and no one would have ever known it was you all along.”

“You and I have unfinished business,” Pike replies. “I am pragmatic. I like everything to be just so and follow through is important to me. To be more specific, I like order. I appreciate it as much as resolution. And you’re right, Jim; I could have left you alone. I could have allowed the memory of our evening together to haunt you for the rest of your days, but what’s the logic in that? Eventually, you would overcome it and go on with your life.”

Jim shakes his head. “No,” he whispers. “I couldn’t have.”

“So you say now,” Pike counters. “But you are _just_ like your father —so resilient. I can’t say the same for your mother; she was a train wreck after what happened.”

Anger flares in his gut and Jim turns back to Pike. “Don’t say another word about her!” he snarls.

“There isn’t much you can do about it,” the other man tells him as he examines a scalpel. Pike leans over the tray and smiles. “Now I bet you want to know why I’m doing this.”

Jim tries to lunge at him only to have the rope cut deeper into his skin. “Fuck you!”

“You were much nicer during our last meeting,” Pike comments as he goes back to work. He shrugs as he checks his tools. “The reason why I’m doing is that I’ve seen thirty years of murderers, kidnappers, rapists, and other dregs of society fuck up their tasks. Sure they are able to evade law enforcement for a period of time, but most of them  _usually_ get caught.” He steps away from the tray with the scalpel in hand and circles around Jim’s head. “I studied them for years. I learned from their greatness and from their mistakes and once I came to San Francisco, I decided I wanted to see if I could do it better.”

Jim shudders and nearly chokes on his breath. He turns his head to the side and coughs, willing his stomach not to give in to the need to throw up.

“Do you need some water?” Pike asks as he squats down next to Jim’s face. “I have a bottle on the tray.” He gags a few times before shaking his head much to the agent’s concern. “Are you sure, Jim?”

He nods. “I’m sure.”

“I bet you’re wondering about John Harrison,” Pike says almost gleefully as he stands up. “His involvement was just having the wrong connections to the wrong people. Coincidence.”

Jim follows Pike’s movements with his eyes as his fury grows. He wants to cry, to scream, to beg for his life, but he won’t give this monster the satisfaction. Not like last time. “Coincidence? Why didn’t you just frame him and be done with it? It would have been easy enough.”

“That could have worked,” Pike agrees as his runs his finger over the scalpel blade. “Harrison was certainly crazy enough, especially when he came after you. I was actually planning on it because I am also an opportunist, Jim.” He looks at Jim with that terrible smile filled with malice and false cheer. “But you ruined that for me.”

He doesn’t say a word and looks away in a huff. Jim is staring at the stand when Pike grabs him roughly by the chin and forces him to stare the agent in the eye.

“Don’t act like a brat, Jim,” Pike warns, tightening his grip. “I can make this incredibly painful for you.”

Jim presses his lips together to keep them for quivering and holds Pike’s stare, despite his terror. When the agent pushes his head back to the ground, he remains silent as his entire body throbs.

“There was a moment that I thought you could be my protégé,” Pike comments. “You were the only one to escape me and our conversation, you showed more intelligence than those other men. And creativity; I could see it in your photographs. You think outside of the box, Jim, but I bet you already know that.”

He closes his eyes, trying to will the pain away. “So I’ve been told,” he replies.

“You don’t believe them?”

“It’s a broad description, don’t you think?” Jim questions as he opens his eyes.

Pike crosses his arms over his chest and taps the scalpel against his forearm. “Perhaps,” he answers. “But then there’s Leonard McCoy. His daddy was a killer and you know the saying that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Leave him alone,” Jim growls suddenly.

The agent tilts his head in amusement. “Oh,” he says as he lapses into silence to observation as he struggles against his bonds. “You have feelings for him, don’t you, Jim?”

He doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t have to. Jim’s secret is already out and now Pike knows that he’s in love with Leonard. He closes his eyes and pictures his face as the morning sun streams into his bedroom. He can see the golden hue of Leonard’s skin and the freckles that litter his shoulders. Tears sting his eyes as the Leonard in his mind smiles at him and his hazel eyes light up as he gazes upon Jim.

“You think he’s going to find you,” Pike taunts, his breath ghosting over Jim’s skin. “That he’s going to rescue you. It won’t happen, Jim. This is a no-win scenario, but don’t worry about Leonard. I’ll make sure to take good care of him when you’re gone.”

Jim opens his eyes to see Pike hovering above him, his body resting on his thighs. There is madness in the man’s eyes and the look of victory that is crawling across his features.

“I don’t believe in no-win scenarios,” he declares with more confidence than he’s feeling. Pike replies with a slap to Jim’s face that draws blood as his lower lip splits.

“I’m going to kill you slowly,” Pike hisses as he drags the dull edge of the scalpel over Jim’s raw cheek and down his throat. He traces his collarbone and back again. “I’ll make sure there is nothing left of you, but your heart. It will be a fitting gift to Leonard, don’t you agree?”

He bucks under Pike as the agent laughs maniacally. “He’ll know it’s you!”

“Then I’ll have to kill him,” Pike says matter-of-factly. He starts to cut open Jim’s borrowed shirt and his smile grows as the fabric parts easily under the instrument’s blade. Pike’s fingers drift over Jim’s chest as he studies his body. “I should have had you faced up during our introduction, Jim. You’re quite a specimen. Perhaps I should start with your heart—you know, spare you the agony. How does that sound?”

Jim realizes he’s trembling as the blade presses against his skin and the pulsing of his heart. He has to look away, not wanting to see the first cut because he’ll scream. He’ll scream until his throat is raw and his voice is gone and Leonard’s name is only an echo.

“Do you not like blood, Jim?” Pike asks as he cups his exposed cheek, dragging his thumb over his skin like a lover’s caress. Jim swallows back a whimper and ends up hiccupping. “It’s okay. I’ll clean up after I’m done.”

The air around them moves as Pike’s arm swings upward towards the ceiling and Jim flinches as he braces himself for the killing blow. He fights the urge to scream and hopes that his prolonged death is quick.

It’s too much to ask for it to be painless and the thought makes tears slip out from under his lashes.

Pike lets out a yell that startles Jim, but not as much as the clap of a gun being fired. It echoes within the warehouse’s walls and continues as a second shot is fired. Jim feels Pike jerking on top of him and hears the scalpel clink as it falls to the floor. He opens his eyes to see the agent staring at him with confusion in his eyes and two bullet holes in his chest before Pike topples over onto his side.

“Jim!” Leonard screams over the stampede of footsteps. “Jim!”

He opens his mouth to call back, but the words won’t come out of his throat. Jim turns to see Pike, who is still staring at him with an open mouth that is gathering dirt. “Get me out,” he whispers. Jim swallows, wetting the tissue in his mouth. “Get me out.”

Someone touches his knee and he shouts in fear, kicking their hands away as they reach for the rope wrapped around his ankle. “Mr. Kirk,” says Spock in his monotone. “I am trying to help you. Please be still.”

“Get me out,” Jim repeats as he hears Spock opening a Swiss Army knife. “Please get me out.” He feels someone touching his face with calloused hands.

They are working on the rope around his wrists. “Hey darlin’,” Leonard murmurs as he touches Jim again before going back to cut through the rope. “It’s okay. We almost got you.”

“The ambulance is three minutes out!” shouts an unfamiliar voice.

Helplessness fills his gut and spreads throughout Jim’s body. As his ankle comes free from its binding, he lurches closer to Leonard. “Bones, get me out,” he cries. “Please get me out! Get me out!”

“Spock, forget his leg and help me with the other wrist!” Leonard yells, sounding panicked. He runs his fingers through Jim’s hair and brushes it off his sweaty forehead. “You’re almost out, darlin’. Just hold on for me, okay?”

He starts screaming as one arm comes loose, followed by the other. It rips out of Jim’s throat without any control and keeps going until he finds himself in Leonard’s arms. He doesn’t remember collapsing against his lover or how his screams dissolve into sobs as the agent picks him up and carries him out of the warehouse just as the ambulance pulls up. Jim just remembers the sweet nothings that Leonard whispers into his ear.

“I’m here,” he says quietly. “You’re safe now.”


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I really put into coherent words about how much I appreciate everyone who has read, commented, bookmarked, and kudoed this story. Just know I adore each and every one of you. xo

The sounds of the hospital room rouse Leonard out of his doze.

He blinks a few times and rolls his shoulders, trying to shake the stiff feeling that has settled. The cartilage pops and releases some of the tension, though there’s very little relief in it. He palms his face, feeling his five o’clock shadow prickling his hand, and lets out a long sigh that seems to deflate his nerves. Through the cracks of his fingers is the sight of Jim curled up in bed. They’ve been frozen in the same position for hours, long after leaving the warehouse at Hunter’s Point and Jim’s helpless sobs died down.

The dank air still clings to them and Leonard finds himself being intermittently woken up by the echo of his lover screaming, begging to be untied. Sometimes he is too late and Pike has already carved Jim’s heart of his chest, leaving the organ next to his lifeless corpse. Other times, it’s just one of the nurses or doctors coming to check on them.

Jim doesn’t make a sound; he’s been sedated to help him rest comfortably. It doesn’t stop him from being receptive to Leonard’s vigil. He leans closer to grasp Jim’s outstretched hand, tracing his fingers against the younger man’s palm. Leonard watches him move from the touch and hears the snuffling noise Jim makes as he brushes his face against the pillow. Scooting the chair closer, he takes Jim’s hand in his and brings it to his lips. He presses them against the warm skin in a gentle kiss while his free hand goes to stroke Jim’s disheveled hair.

Someone knocks on the door as a form of warning, followed by its opening and closing. Leonard glances up to see Spock coming around the privacy curtain. If he is tired, his fellow agent is an expert at concealing it though Leonard catches the shift of Spock’s brows as he takes in the scene in front of him. “How is Mr. Kirk fairing?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

Leonard shrugs. “He’s sleeping for now,” he replies as he brushes his thumb over his lover’s knuckles. “The doctors want to keep him overnight and see how he’s feeling in the morning.”

“That is fair, all things considering,” Spock states as his dark eyes flicker to the monitors and back to Jim, who seems oblivious to the conversation around him. “And how are you?”

Leonard shakes his head. “I’m not sure,” he replies truthfully. He’s relieved that Jim is safe and that the Kolinahr— _no_ , Pike—is dead, but it leaves him feeling drained. It’s worse than what he felt after the Atlanta Ripper case; he had felt numb then. Everything is too raw for Leonard to put into words.

“I telephoned Agent Uhura’s family,” Spock says, changing the subject.

The mere mention of her name fills Leonard’s throat with a lump and brings tears to his eyes. He remembers Sulu finding her body in the passenger seat of Pike’s car and his moan of sadness. She had been shot in the face at point-blank range and the aftermath hadn’t been pretty. Leonard remembers the rage that fueled him when he charged into the warehouse to find Jim. “Thank you,” he says quietly as he wipes away tears. “I couldn’t have done it.”

“That is understandable,” Spock tells him. “You and Agent Uhura were quite close. I am sorry for your loss.”

She had been his friend when he was newly arrived in the city; a rookie agent and a lover of bourbon. Nyota took Leonard under her proverbial wing, who was silently reeling from his parents' deaths and treated him like a person. A single glare would stop the gossip that followed him in the corridors at work and her wisdom, that was well beyond her years, helped Leonard put himself back together.

He had tried to thank her once, during a rare somber moment while drinking out in Hayes Valley, and Nyota stopped him by shoving a breadstick in his mouth with a mischievous grin. What she had done for him hadn’t required being acknowledged; it was just who Nyota was.

“Were you able to get a warrant to search Pike’s property?” Leonard asks without looking up.

Spock nods. “Sulu and Hendorff are still over there collecting evidence. One of the things they discovered is a refrigerator that contains human remains and jars of blood,” he replies. “Scotty and Christine have already taken it down to the labs to be tested and identified.”

“Jesus,” Leonard whispers as he squeezes Jim’s hand just a bit tighter. He glances at Spock, who is in his usual stance with his arms clasped about his back. “Do I want to know what else is there?”

Spock purses his lips together before answering. “He kept journals; an account of each of his victims. From what Sulu said over the phone, it’s very… _detailed_.”

“At least we’ll have our answers,” Leonard says quietly. He looks at Jim, who wrinkles his nose in his sleep, and thinks about what Pike may have written about him. His stomach clenches painfully. “I am requesting to be removed from the case.” He turns to Spock. “I’m emotionally compromised.”

The other agent nods. “I will let Archer know,” he replies.

“I would also like to request a leave of absence,” Leonard adds. His eyes fall on Jim and as soon as he sees his face, Leonard knows he’s doing the right thing. “I’ll fill out the paperwork and complete any interviews necessary, but after that, I need some time off.”

“Of course,” Spock acquiesces. “I do not feel that anyone will fault you; you’ve earned it after all.”

It makes Leonard chuckle softly and brings a rarely seen grin on Spock’s face. “Thanks, Spock,” he tells the other agent.

Spock lingers for a while longer before excusing himself to call Archer.

It’s quarter after three in the morning and Leonard’s lids start to feel heavy once more. He lets go of Jim’s hand long enough to grab an extra blanket and drape it over his lower half before slipping his fingers between his lover’s once more.

He sleeps through the rest of the night.

 

* * *

  
_Eight Months Later_

He feels the tip of a cold nose brushing against his shoulder blade, followed by an equally colder hand that touches his side, causing him to recoil.

Leonard grumbles as he rolls over from one side to the other. He presses the heels of his hand into his eye and opens the other to see Jim grinning at him in the grey light of morning. And he’s also holding a mug of coffee. “This close,” Leonard grouses as he takes it from Jim and inhales the scent. “This close and I would have kicked you out of bed.”

Jim chuckles as Leonard rests against the headboard and takes a sip. “You would never,” he teases.

“Oh, believe me, kid, I _would_.”

Jim scoffs as he leans up to kiss him. “But I brought you coffee,” he murmurs in between.

“You did,” Leonard replies as he wraps an arm around Jim as they kiss again. He tastes like orange juice, probably because he had some while he brewed a pot of coffee.

Jim pulls back slightly and chirps, “You love me.”

“Yes I do,” he answers truthfully as he pulls Jim in just a bit closer. Leonard sets the mug down and fully wraps his boyfriend up in his arms, snaking his hands under the younger man’s shirt to touch skin. Unlike his nose and hands, the rest of Jim is warm. “You need to start wearing gloves,” Leonard tells him as he nibbles on his jaw. “I could buy you a pair of mittens.”

Jim hums in agreement as his hands cup Leonard’s ass and squeezes it. “Whatever you say, Bones,” he sighs as Leonard sucks on his collarbone. He squirms under him. “You’re going to stretch the collar.”

“So what, darlin’?” he questions as he pulls on the fabric to expose more fair skin. Leonard gently gnashes his teeth into the flesh and hears his boyfriend curse under his breath. He has a feeling that Jim’s shirt will be shoved under the blankets or on the floor sooner than later.

Jim ruts against him and releases a shuddering moan. “So _this_ is _your_ shirt,” he replies.

“It needs to come off,” Leonard declares as he pulls the article of clothing up and over the younger man’s body. He tosses it off the bed and starts mouthing his way down Jim’s body, pausing to tease his nipples with his tongue and suck a bruise into his stomach. Leonard loves the way his boyfriend responds to him: the ripple of lean muscle, the vocalization of his pleasure, the soft touches.

He pulls Jim’s pajama bottoms down while his teeth graze one of his hips. “Bones,” he hears as Leonard applies suction onto the sensitive area. “Fuck Bones…”

Leonard glances up to see Jim’s heaving chest and the flush of arousal on his cheeks. “We’ll get there, darlin’,” he teases, flicking his tongue over his boyfriend’s hip and grabs the lube.

Jim cries out and squirms under him as he uncaps the bottle. Leonard peppers the younger man’s pelvis with kisses as he warms up the lube before yanking Jim’s pants off with his free hand. “I’m never going to be tired of this,” Jim sighs as the first of Leonard’s fingers sinks into him, laid out on the bed. 

Leonard kisses his lips with a grin. “Glad to hear it,” he murmurs as he slips in the second finger soon after, thanking good luck that it doesn’t take long to prep Jim.

They’ve been together for nearly eight months and have a very healthy sex life, so why would it?

He listens to his boyfriend’s breath hitch as Leonard crooks his fingers to brush against Jim’s prostate, teasing the gland slowly. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Jim moans, arching up into Leonard’s touch. He opens his eyes as his hips rock onto his fingers, two blue orbs that still make his heart skip a beat. “Bones… _please_. I need you!”

It’s _that_ he needs to hear to withdraw his fingers from Jim and slick his cock up before guiding himself inside of his boyfriend’s quivering hole.

Leonard lets out an appreciative groan as he sinks into Jim, feeling the familiar tight heat fluttering around him. “Oh darlin’,” he chokes out, digging his nails into his boyfriend’s ass. “You always feel so good.”

They whisper sweet nothings and _I love yous_ as they move together, all of it familiar and precious. Leonard has spent many hours memorizing each moan and press of Jim’s body against his own and just when he thinks he has it all figured out, the younger man manages to surprise him. He intertwines both their hands together, holding them against the pillow under Jim’s head as Leonard kisses him long and deep.

His boyfriend urges him on, hooking his legs together under his ass. Leonard bites back a groan and surges deeper, harder and earns a flurry of his nickname. “God Bones,” Jim rasps. “Harder, please, go harder.”

“You’re almost there, aren’t you, darlin’?” Leonard says hotly against Jim’s cheek. “I can feel you tightening up on my cock.” He pushes in harder and his boyfriend cries out. “Like that, baby?”

Jim shudders under him. “Yes, god,” he begs, his voice raising an octave. “Keep going, don’t stop!”

He doesn’t stop, not even after Jim cums between them and arches against Leonard. He fucks his boyfriend through his orgasm and finds his release soon after. Leonard groans into Jim’s sweaty hair and pumps his hips through the aftershocks before they both collapse on the mattress. Jim wipes them both off with one of their pajama bottoms and tosses it off the bed before settling into the curve of Leonard’s body. It’s still early in the morning; not quite after six.

“Your coffee is going to go cold,” he murmurs tiredly.

“It’s fine,” he replies as his eyes flutter shut. “I have you instead.” Leonard curls around Jim, allowing the warmth of his body to sink into his own and lull him to sleep.

He dreams of things with no consequence and of his boyfriend, whose smile and bright blue eyes take him deeper into his slumber.

It’s been months since Leonard had a nightmare about the Kolinahr case—more specifically Jim dying at Pike’s hand before he could get to the warehouse in time. He attributes this milestone to therapy and is secretly glad that he went back.

Edith Keeler is pretty no-nonsense and Leonard appreciates her approach to how she handles him. She doesn’t coddle or try to tell him what he should be feeling, doing, or acting. She listens and walks him through his issues until Leonard finds a resolution on his own. “You’ve spent a long time shouldering a burden that wasn’t yours to begin with,” she tells him during one of their sessions. “Jim seems like the type of partner that would want you to talk to him.”

Leonard confesses that he had been taken aback by this, but takes her advice nonetheless. He tells Jim everything that’s on his mind and allows his boyfriend to truly be a partner. In return, Leonard is there for Jim when the trauma becomes too much and Jim’s nightmares wake them both. His post-traumatic stress has tapered down some, though Leonard wishes that it would disappear for good.

There have been far too many nights where Jim’s terror is so crippling they are up for hours. He holds his boyfriend while he sobs himself into exhaustion or shakes in fear. Relationships aren’t perfect (though Leonard would argue that his is pretty damn close) and they are both working on it a day at a time. At least Jim is finally able to sleep without one of the lamps on in their bedroom and can be alone in their apartment without having a panic attack.

He opens his eyes a few hours later and is greeted by Jim’s sleeping face. Leonard grins as he runs his hand over the younger man’s cheek. He traces the familiar curve of his boyfriend’s cheekbone to Jim’s lips where he brushes his thumb over them.

Jim mutters something in his sleep and his tongue flicks out, dragging over his lower lip. Leonard kisses him on the brow before rolling out of bed and heading towards the bathroom with clean clothes tucked under his arm. Once he’s showered, he goes to the kitchen and busies himself with making them breakfast.

From the day that Jim was released from the hospital and stepped foot back into Leonard’s apartment, he hasn’t left. The verisimilitude of what happened at the condo in North Beach was still too raw for the younger man to think about going back there. So the place was boxed up and its contents moved into storage while it was quietly put on the market. It finally sold to a Korean entrepreneur who had little thought for the condo’s turbulent history and escrowed closed the week before.

Now Leonard and Jim are discussing the purchase of a place of their own. It’s not that the apartment isn’t big enough for the two of them, but they want something that is _theirs_. Staying in the city is a must for both of them and practical since Leonard received a promotion. He’s taking over Pike’s position, which means more paperwork, but better hours. The team is still the same, though Leonard surmises that Nyota’s absence will take some time to get over.

He will have a new charge; a young woman named Elizabeth Dehner. She is fresh out of the Farm and according to Spock, proficient in her area of expertise.

“I was going to make you breakfast,” Jim whines as he stumbles into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed.

Leonard shrugs as he rotates the bacon on the frying pan. “I figured you’d want to sleep in,” he replies as his boyfriend goes through the cabinets to grab a glass. “There’s a glass of orange juice on the table.”

“You’re the best, Bones,” Jim says as he kisses Leonard’s cheek and scurries to the kitchen table.

He can hear the younger man’s enthusiastic gulps as he drains the glass in one go and has to laugh. “I do what I can, darlin’,” Leonard tells him as he watches the bacon sizzle in the pan. Jim squeezes in next to him and helps make the omelets while stealing a few pieces of bacon with a playful grin.

All he can do is scold the younger man and roll his eyes. In truth, he loves times like these; they are precious and remind Leonard of how lucky he is.

How lucky they both are.

“So I was thinking,” Jim says over breakfast.

Leonard snorts into his coffee. “Oh dear god,” he grouses. He looks up from the morning paper to see Jim’s blue-eyed glare and smiles sweetly. “Yes, darlin’, tell me what you were thinking about.”

“Much better,” the younger man grumbles. “I was thinking that maybe we could take a vacation before you go back to work.”

“A vacation? Hasn’t this been a vacation?”

Jim shakes his head. “This has been paid time off to be lazy,” he points out. “Besides, we spent the first two months of it in depositions.”

“True,” Leonard sighs. He also spent those two months filling out paperwork for discharging his weapon and closing out his end of the case. A vacation—somewhere away from San Francisco—could be good for both of them. He reaches for Jim’s hand and smiles. “Did you have a place in mind?”

If his boyfriend’s devious smirk is any indication, he _certainly_ has a place in mind. “Have you ever thought about going to Tokyo?”


End file.
